Out of Darkness
by RikTikTavi
Summary: Legolas, Gimli, and Faramir face new challenges as they try and re-build Ithillien. Rated PG-13 for violence. Chapter XVII posted in full now!
1. An Unexpected Incident

Disclaimer: all characters, settings, and elvish language are strictly from the mind of J.R.R. Tolkien or inspired by him.  
  
Setting: It is 20 years after the War of the Ring. Legolas and Gimli have both come to Ithilien with other elves and dwarves to help Prince Faramir and Princess Eowyn re-build the war stricken country. But they find that with Sauron's death not all evil has left Middle-Earth.  
  
Chapter I  
  
An Unexpected Incident  
  
The dead elf's body lay in the middle of the road bent in a very unnatural way. Bloodstains were found everywhere on the victim's clothing, and the ground underneath him was saturated with it. At the neck was nothing where the head should have been. In fact, the head was to be found a few yards away, gruesomely impaled on the branch of a nearby tree. The eyes had been removed.  
  
Legolas bent over the figure looking for hints as to who or what had committed this atrocity. He noticed a glint of silver next to the body, and picked up a mithril chain with an Elven betrothal charm on it. He held it in his hand a moment then slowly stood to face his best friend, Gimli. "I do not understand this."  
  
Gimli watched the elf with tremendous sympathy. Legolas had only been lord of the elf colony in Ithilien for 18 years, a very short time for an elf, but he felt responsible for all who were in his care. The death of an elf was a rare thing, except in times of war, and one so horrible as this must have greatly disturbed him. Gimli smiled to himself. Not that the stubborn elf would ever show it!  
  
The dead elf's name was Luvien, and up until today he had been one of the best warriors in Legolas's service. Gimli and Legolas had gone searching for him when his captain had reported him missing. The elf who was to relieve him from watch duty had found no one at the appointed meeting place and time.  
  
As it happened Legolas and Gimli had stumbled upon Luvien's body almost a full league from where he was to have been keeping his watch. They were at the southeastern edge of the dale, which was home to the village of the elves in Ithilien, and far from any roads or paths. Whoever had committed the crime had known where to go to avoid being seen.  
  
"I would think he had been mauled by a wild animal if not for the head." Gimli picked up a piece of bloodied cloak at his feet. The last human, elf or dwarf to die in Ithilien from anything other than an accident or natural causes was in the last of the orc raids some 18 years ago. Once those foul creatures had been taken care of Ithilien had become quiet and peaceful once again. Gimli threw the piece of cloak on the ground in disgust.  
  
Legolas had removed his cloak and laid it on the ground next to Luvien' s body. Slowly he rose and went to the head mounted on the tree branch and gingerly removed it. Gimli saw him shudder slightly as the head came suddenly loose. The dwarf himself felt slightly sick as he watched his friend. Legolas wrapped the body and head tightly in the cloak then hoisted the heavy burden onto the back of his horse.  
  
Sadness hung over the elf like a rain cloud. "It is obvious that he was murdered Gimli, but I do not know who or how or why. Alas that I do not have Aragorn's talent for tracking and reading clues left on the earth. Then, perhaps, I could begin to explain this." Legolas looked again at Luvien's mithril chain, "For I do not know how I can tell Luvien's wife this grave news if I cannot tell her why." The elf suddenly looked much older, as if the weight of his actual years had suddenly come upon him. It angered Gimli to see his friend like this.  
  
"Legolas, I cannot abide this! We must search out this enemy and bring him or them to swift justice! I will go and bring ten of my hardiest dwarves, and you bring ten of your fiercest warriors! Together we will find this murderer and repay him in kind for this accursed deed!" Gimli pulled out his axe and tested the blade, "If they are so fond of beheading perhaps they will enjoy the feel of my axe upon their neck! Come let us go quickly!" Placing his axe back in the leather thong at his waist the dwarf marched determinedly to his pony and mounted it (much to Gimli's dislike he had been forced to learn to ride since coming to Ithilien). He turned and expected to see Legolas right behind him, but the elf had not moved.  
  
"Whoever did this, Gimli, is long gone. It will prove useless to begin such a search now. We must ride to Amon Galen and tell Prince Faramir what has happened." Legolas looked down again at the mithril necklace, his face seemed unusually grim to Gimli, "I do not know why, but I fear that there is graver peril at hand than you or I guess." 


	2. Edhilelonde

Disclaimer: all characters, settings, and elvish language are strictly from the mind of J.R.R. Tolkien or inspired by him.  
  
Chapter II  
  
Edhil-e-Londe  
  
The way back to Edhil-e-londe, the village where Legolas and the other elves lived, was not long. The journey might have been pleasant if not for the circumstances. The sun was shining, and it being late October the leaves of the surrounding trees were changing color. The oaks were already a brilliant red, and the beeches were tinged with not just a hint of bright yellow. The earth smelled fresh after a previous night's rain. It reminded Gimli of a day 20 years ago when the fellowship had broken. Two hobbits setting out for Mordor alone, two hobbits captured by orcs, and poor Boromir killed in their defense. The world had seemed so beautiful that day as well, yet horrible as they laid his body in the boat and sent it over the Falls of Rauros.  
  
Legolas rode ahead of Gimli. He did not speak at all as they rode, and Gimli wondered what the elf was thinking. Death was not a subject Legolas spoke of often or with ease. The elves were immortal, but they could be slain. Gimli had often thought that death must be a terrible burden to those who do not necessarily have to endure it. They did not fear death, but rather they despaired of losing one they had shared their lives with for thousands of years. It was not uncommon for a husband or wife of a fallen elf to die of a broken heart themselves. Gimli wondered how Luvien's wife would bear the news.  
  
The sun was low in the sky before they reached Edhil-e-londe. The news of Luvien's disappearance had spread throughout the whole village, and as they approached many elves ran toward them for news but stopped short upon seeing the wrapped form behind Legolas. They fell in behind the pair, and as they passed by the first houses of the village they began to sing. Gimli listened, but could not understand the words. He urged his pony forward to come even with Legolas.  
  
"Legolas, I thought I knew your tongue well, but I cannot understand this song. What are they singing?"  
  
Legolas sat rigidly on the back of his horse, his face a mask. He stared straight ahead and did not look at Gimli as he replied, "It is being sung in Quenya, the language of the Eldar. It is a song of lament." The elf spoke no more and Gimli rode with him the rest of the way in silence.  
  
They passed through Edhil-e-londe gathering more elves as they rode until they reached the center of the village. Here there was a large grassy area surrounded by great oak trees where the elves would gather for food and entertainment. A small brook ran through the middle of the lawn and at the very center, positioned directly over the brook stood a large fountain. It had been a gift from Gimli and the dwarves of Ithilien to the elves of Edhil-e-londe. It stood as tall as the surrounding oak trees and was made of the rose quartz which the dwarves had discovered in the nearby Emyn Arnen. The fountain looked like a tier of lilies. One flower resting inside another, each bloom slightly larger than the one above it. The water spilled over the ends of the petals onto the flower below and eventually into a large pool at the bottom. The gift had been well received by the elves.  
  
The song of lament for Luvien died slowly away. Legolas climbed down from his horse. A few elves began untying the bundle that was Luvien's body. They carried the body to the foot of the fountain and laid it at it's base. Standing next to the fountain was a small group of elves talking in whispers. Legolas approached them, Gimli at his side. All but one of the elves backed away as Legolas came near. She was tall and fair, as were all of her race, but unlike the rest of the elves in Edhil-e-londe she had raven black hair. She was not of the Silvan elves from Eryn Lasgalen, or Mirkwood as Gimli knew it, but had lived among the elves of Lothlorien when she met and fell in love with Luvien. They had only been married a short 500 years.  
  
Legolas stood stiff as iron before her, "Serewen, I bring the gravest of news to you." He took her hand and placed Luvien's chain in her palm, "Luvien has fallen."  
  
Serewen did not move. She did not speak. Her eyes stared hollowly at Legolas and did not turn to look at the charm in her hand or the body on the ground beside her. The quiet was excruciating and Gimli turned to Legolas to break the silence. His friend had a small tear at the corner of his eye. He released her hand, "Forgive me, Serewen, for I have no words to ease your pain and grief."  
  
Still she did not speak, but held the elf prince in her gaze. Finally Gimli stirred, "You have my condolences, my lady, and the condolences of all my people." Gimli bowed with a nod of his head. Serewen did not acknowledge him or his sentiment, but turned away to stare at the fountain once again, her dead husband's betrothal charm still held before her in her hand.  
  
Gimli felt such sympathy for the bereft elf, but even more so for Legolas who seemed tormented by the news he had to bear. Gimli touched him gently on the arm and whispered, "Come Legolas, we must be off if we wish to reach Amon Galen by morning."  
  
Gimli turned back towards his pony. Legolas slowly turned to follow and had mounted his horse when Serewen turned, "What do you intend to do about this, Prince Legolas?" Her words were cold, biting.  
  
Legolas dismounted and came over to her once again, "Whatever is in my power to do I will. First I must see Prince Faramir, and advise him of the attack. This is his realm. Therefore, he should know of this murder, and he should have a say in what is to be done. But also I would welcome his counsel, for I am too deeply affected by Luvien's death and I fear a rash decision borne out of anger and grief."  
  
Serewen turned to the fountain again, and said not another word.  
  
Legolas, his heart heavy, returned to his horse. He felt the eyes of all the elves of Edhil-e-londe on him. They were fierce, his people, and would not back away from any foe, but this vicious murder had unnerved them. Now, more than ever, they looked to him for answers and strength. Legolas Greenleaf, for the first time in hundreds of years, had doubts about his own strength and courage.  
  
As he and Gimli left the gathering place of the elves he looked once more at Serewen. She was standing facing the fountain once again. Luvien's betrothal charm lay in her open palm. Just before he passed out of sight he saw her hand turn and the charm fall into the fountain's deep pool. 


	3. Stirrings in the East

Disclaimer: all characters, settings, and elvish language are strictly from the mind of J.R.R. Tolkien or inspired by him.  
  
1 Chapter III  
  
2 Stirrings in the East  
  
  
  
Sunlight blazed off the topmost tower of the newly built fortress of Amon Galen just as Legolas and Gimli came into view of the city. The sun was just rising over the nearby Emyn Arnen and as it's light poured over the city the magnificence of it was laid bare. The citadel in which Prince Faramir resided had been built with exquisite blue-veined marble painstakingly brought from the Grey Mountains far to the north. The giant slabs had been floated down the mighty river Anduin on boats made by the remnants of the elves of Lothlorien, who after Galadriel's departure had made a new home in the forests of southern Eryn Lasgalen. Mighty steeds from Rohan had been used to portage the marble around the rapids of Sarn Gebir and down below the foot of the Falls of Rauros where elven boats again carried the burden to the land of Ithilien.  
  
There were four towers marking the points of the compass from which a constant vigil of the surrounding lands was kept. The top of each tower was shaped like the bulb of a flower coming to a point at it's height and had been completely overlaid with gold mined from the Emyn Arnen by Gimli's folk. In the middle of the four watchtowers was the main tower of the citadel. It was five times the girth of the other four and half again as high. Along it's length were many broad balconies and open verandas connected by open air staircases so that the King and his guests might view the beauty of the countryside at all times. The main tower was also crowned with gold in the same fashion as the other four and so it was called Minas Mallen, the Golden Towers. The fortress had taken ten years to complete, but all who looked upon it said its beauty rivaled that of the White Tower in Minas Tirith.  
  
The city of Amon Galen with its houses and shops lay on the hillside surrounding Minas Mallen. This too the dwarves had helped to craft and all the dwellings were clean and bright being made of a white stone which could be mined in the White Mountains on the other side of the Anduin. The same stone had been used to build a wall encircling the entire city, but it was only perhaps twice the height of a man, for the wall was not the main defense of Amon Galen. Surrounding the entire base of the hill was a large moat. At all points it was 50 spans across and 25 spans deep. It had been dug by the men of Amon Galen and filled with water from the Anduin. The only route in or out of the city was by one bridge on the north side. It was constructed of the same marble as Minas Mallen and had no adornments or even rails, but was simply a smooth arch some 30 spans across. Gimli had designed it so that the bridge split in the middle. Many ropes and pulleys had been expertly placed so that only twenty men were needed to lift the nearer half. When in this position not only was the bridge not usable by enemies, but it also completed the wall encircling the city. High above the ground the peoples of Amon Galen could easily mark their foes on the shores of the moat below.  
  
Legolas's elves had not been idle while the dwarves toiled. Many oak trees had stood on the hill upon which the city now lay and the elves had helped the dwarves to incorporate them into the city's layout. It was not unusual to see a large oak sticking out of the top of one house, and some houses had even been built among their branches with long staircases winding around their trunks to the front doors. Lamps hung from all the trees so even at night, when the sun no longer set the towers of Minas Mallen alight, the city was aglow with yellow light. But it was the flowers for which Amon Galen became most renowned. For the city lay far enough to the south that flowers could bloom all year long. So the elves with their knowledge and sway over living things planted large clumps of purple irises which bloomed in the summer and brilliant, red geraniums which bloomed in the winter with many others filling the spaces in the autumn and spring. There was not a patch of earth in Amon Galen that did not rear some living thing.  
  
Even with all his heavy burdens it lightened Legolas's heart to see the fair city. The re-building of Ithilien had been healing to all the elves for they thrived on creating beauty. All their recent years had been spent in strife and battle, but now their lives had become peaceful and fulfilling once more. Luvien's death had disrupted that feeling amongst his people. It had disrupted that feeling within himself. Not for the first time Legolas thought of the sea, and the desire to travel to the Grey Havens and depart this earth for Valinor, the Blessed Realm. He knew it was inevitable that he would leave Middle-Earth one way or another, but whenever his heart called him to the sea it also reminded him of what he stood to lose. For those he loved most of all still remained in this realm. His heart could not bear leaving while Elessar and Arwen remained, nor indeed Faramir and Eowyn who he had come to love much in recent years, but most of all he was loathe to leave Gimli.  
  
Strange though it may seem to his elvish sensibilities the dwarf was the best friend he had ever had. He knew the two of them made an unlikely pair, but he realized that where he brought caution Gimli brought courage, when Legolas's world became all too quiet the dwarf would almost assuredly provide a little chaos to "make things interesting", and when Legolas saw things only through fair elf eyes Gimli could and would always provide another perspective. It was their lot in life for elves to become narrow- minded creatures of habit, but Legolas knew he would never be allowed that luxury as long as the dwarf remained.  
  
Legolas looked at Gimli who sat uncomfortably on the back of his pony. He had been unfair to his friend of late in being so closed. Legolas laughed to himself in remembering all the times the dwarf had chastised him for not telling him his troubles. Friends do not keep their problems to themselves, Master Elf. I think even you cannot deny that I have a sturdy back and strong legs and am well-equipped to help bear your burden. Now out with it! Whatever is troubling you will trouble me as well, only you have the great fortune of having a dwarf to advise you, whereas I have only an elf . He knew he must help to amend things.  
  
They were crossing the bridge into the city when he turned to Gimli, "It is a wonder, my dear dwarf, that you have managed to stay atop your pony the entire journey. I wonder, what your father would say if he could see you so majestically mounted."  
  
Gimli who had become quite bored during their quiet evening ride was half asleep in his saddle, and so was startled by Legolas's sudden outburst. Taken unawares as he was, he could think of no fitting response so he avoided the comment, "Ah, the elf speaks. I had begun to wonder if you even remembered I was here."  
  
Legolas bowed his head acknowledging Gimli's grudge. "I am sorry Gimli for not sharing my thoughts with you." Legolas then grinned at him, "I should be taking advantage of my 'great fortune in having a dwarf to advise me.'"  
  
The dwarf's long mustache twitched ever so slightly in his repressed laughter, but the rest of his face appeared stern. "It is good that you have finally come to your senses in this matter. There may be some hope for you yet."  
  
Legolas grinned at him even more. Though he could not bring himself to utter it aloud he was well aware of his great fortune in having Gimli for a friend.  
  
At the gate the sentinels greeted them, but did not hinder their progress for they knew them well. They made their way through the city streets with ease as it was still early and few had yet any need to be up and about. And so they soon came at last to the front gate of the fortress of Prince Faramir.  
  
Faramir's guards immediately opened the gate for the two of them to enter. The news of their coming had apparently preceded them because on the other side of the gate Boromir, Faramir and Eowyn's son, was already there to greet them. "Welcome Prince Legolas and Master Gimli to Amon Galen."  
  
He was very tall as was the nature of the men of Gondor, but his hair was golden like his mother's with only the slightest hint of red in it. His shoulders were broad and within him there was a great strength. His eyes were of a clear blue like his mother and though he was only 18 years of age they told of great wisdom and cunning.  
  
Legolas dismounted and handed the reins of his horse to a young page as did Gimli who looked exceedingly happy to have both feet firmly on the ground. The elf-prince bowed low, "Greetings, Prince Boromir. I did not anticipate such a welcome, but it is well received."  
  
Gimli bowed so low that his beard touched the ground. "Tis a fine morning to be greeted by the crown prince of glorious Ithilien. I am most humbled."  
  
Legolas rolled his eyes in mock irritation, "Have you noticed, Boromir, how dwarves have such an incredible flair for the dramatic?"  
  
Gimli took on the pained look of an ill-abused teacher, "Pay no attention to him, dear Prince. He is only jealous. Try as I might I have been unsuccessful in teaching him the art of fair speech."  
  
"Stop, stop!" Boromir cried. Though he was used to such banter between the elf and dwarf he also knew that once it began it could be quite some time before it was ended. "You have both honored me with fine words, but if this continues it will be midday before we can even enter inside. Come. You must be weary from your long journey. Breakfast has been provided for you in your usual rooms, and you can also take some rest there." The young prince turned and they followed him into the tower.  
  
As beautiful as Minas Mallen was on the outside, it was even more so from within. Every hallway was designed so that one felt as if they were traveling under a long trellis beset with grapevines heavy with fruit. All this carved from the magnificent marble. The floors were lined with carpet woven by the elves depicting landscapes of the many beautiful places throughout Ithilien. Lamps in the shapes of flowers lined the walls, but natural light poured in at every possible place setting the walls aglow.  
  
The hallway they were passing through led into the very heart of the citadel. At it's center was a fountain, a large pedestal which water flowed over to fall in a circular sheet into a pool below. Many paths wound from the outer wall through brilliant flowers and green plants to their eventual end at the fountain. On the next level of the tower, which was some ways above the ground floor, were three wide balconies facing both inside and out which allowed much sunlight to fall on the indoor garden. Legolas and Gimli smiled at one another. The atrium was a masterpiece of dwarvish and elvish craftsmanship, and they were proud of what their cooperation had accomplished.  
  
The three mounted one of the staircases which led up to the level of the balconies. From there Boromir led them outside again. They climbed many stairways on the outside of the tower until they reached a small balcony near the top of the tower. "Here you are. Breakfast is inside, and if there is anything else you require please ask one of the pages. I must go inform Mother and Father of your arrival." With a slight nod of his head Boromir continued up another stairway and was quickly out of sight.  
  
Gimli immediately turned to go inside for food. Just inside there was a table set with foods favored by both of them. Gimli had already helped himself to a venison steak before Legolas had even sat down. The elf found some of the sweet cakes Faramir's chefs were known for. He had not eaten since early yesterday, and was quite hungry.  
  
The two were content to eat for some time with no talking, but eventually Legolas broke the silence. "There is something going on, Gimli. More than just our news."  
  
Gimli took a swig of beer to wash down the large hunk of yellow cheese he had just popped in his mouth, "What makes you say that? I see nothing out of the ordinary."  
  
"Do you not? It is obvious that the watch saw us approaching and notified the prince. But Boromir did not look as one who has just risen from sleep. And the kitchens were already hard at work to have this meal ready for us when we arrived. Venison does not cook quickly."  
  
Gimli had finished his steak and most of the cheese and was now hard at work on a bowl of grapes. "You have grown suspicious in your old age, elf. The venison may be from the night before, and who knows what prompts a young man to be up in the wee hours." The dwarf's eyes twinkled mischievously, "Perhaps, the young buck has his eyes set on a doe, and is so lovesick he cannot sleep."  
  
Legolas grinned, "I did not know dwarves were such romantics. Next you will be writing love poetry!"  
  
Gimli stopped eating and glared at the elf-prince. Legolas did his best to keep a straight face while becoming suddenly very interested in the sliced melon. Nothing was more infuriating to Gimli than the elf's nonchalant attitude when arguing, so he took his last grape and with a lightning quick motion flicked it across the table straight at the elf's pointy nose. Legolas did not look up but his hand was a blur, catching the grape before it hit it's mark and then popping it into his own mouth.  
  
Gimli positively snorted with frustration. "Our long journey has apparently dulled my reflexes, lucky for you. I believe I shall take a short nap."  
  
Gimli rose from his seat and started towards the door to his bedchamber when Legolas piped up, "Yes, perhaps a nap would be best for you. A dwarf cannot be expected to ride all night with no rest. They were not meant for such difficult labor."  
  
Gimli stopped dead in his tracks. Dead silence rang in the room. Then he muttered something even Legolas's ears could not hear, although the elf was quite certain that whatever words he had used they were likely very colorful. He could not help smiling to himself. That thorn-in-my-side dwarf has suffered much to lighten my mood, he thought. And thinking once again of his great fortune in having such a friend Legolas took sip of his wine . . . and spat it out onto the ground. Someone had poured salt into his glass.  
  
  
  
A few hours later Legolas and Gimli found themselves seated at a table with Prince Faramir, Princess Eowyn, and the young Prince Boromir. They were on a veranda which overlooked the mighty River Anduin to the north. The elf's keen eyes were just able to discern a glint of white light in the distance where the white city of Minas Tirith stood  
  
After many warm welcomes Legolas had told the tale of Luvien's murder. The news seemed to greatly distress Faramir. Eowyn also looked pained to hear such news, but she also saw the sorrow of Legolas and so took his hand and said, "Dear Legolas, you must know how much your people love you. Do not be troubled by thoughts of failure. Though you are their leader you cannot know all things nor suspect foul play at every turn."  
  
Her words seemed to ease the elf's mind, "Great is Faramir to have Eowyn at his side, and fortunate the peoples of Ithilien to have her guidance." Legolas rose and bowed before her.  
  
Eowyn nodded in reply then said, "Please, sit, Legolas. There is more news."  
  
Legolas was seated and Faramir stood. It was his habit to pace when discussing matters of great imoportance, and so he began to walk the length of the balcony, "As you both know, scouts have been sent regularly to Mordor to keep vigil over the men who reside there. King Elessar gave them the lands about the Sea of Nurnen to do as they wished as long as they no longer plotted to make war against Gondor. While we kept watch for last twenty years it appeared as though the Easterlings would abide by this command, but it does not appear so any more.  
  
"Last July I sent more of my men to bring back tidings from Mordor. They returned with news that was curious, but not necessarily ominous. The Easterlings had been cultivating their land with great success, but now a great number of them had taken to entering the caves of the southern Ephel Duath. What they were doing there my men could not say, but we thought at the time that it was likely they had taken to mining.  
  
"Again, I was not overly concerned by this news, but l did wonder what they were doing under those mountains. So, last month I sent out eight men to spy on them. Five of those men have not returned, and I do not believe they ever will The other three have only returned last night, through great personal peril, and they brought grave news indeed. The Easterlings are mining in the Ephel Duath, alongside many orcs, and all their smithies are hard at work making weaponry and mail. They are preparing for war." Faramir had at last stopped pacing and now stood, hands resting on the table, eyes searching Legolas and Gimli for their reactions.  
  
Gimli was the first to regain his speech from the shock of the news, "Prince Faramir, these Easterlings and Orcs will only find death if they dare to cross the mountains into this country. You have the strength of the dwarves at your call." Gimli said these words proudly. Faramir smiled grimly at him. It was just the reaction he had expected.  
  
Legolas was slower to respond, and less heatedly, "Gimli is correct, Faramir. If they attempt to cross the Ephel Duath they will most assuredly meet their doom. Without Sauron's power and the power of the one ring they have little cunning or strength of themselves. Why then do they prepare for war? What force organizes them?"  
  
Faramir began to pace again, "That is what troubles my heart most, Legolas. Has some great evil come again to that foul land. We do not know. And now your there is news of murder in Edhil-e-londe. Possibly coincidence. Possibly not. But if these orcs or foul men of the east can murder an elf then there is some greater evil behind all of this."  
  
Eowyn then spoke, "Letters have been drafted to send to Aragorn in Minas Tirith, Eomer in Rohan, Thranduil in Eryn Lasgalen, and to Thorin Stonehelm in the Iron Hills. Your news will now also be included, Legolas. The letters will leave tonight with our fastest riders."  
  
Legolas nodded in agreement with this statement as did Gimli. The dwarf then began questioning Faramir on the numbers of orcs and men in Mordor. Legolas only half listened to the conversation. The what ifs and wherefores would continue long into the evening, but they were just suppositions based on minute scraps of information. Slowly the voices faded in his mind altogether and in their place Legolas heard the deep rumble waves breaking upon the shore. The sea was calling to him again. 


	4. A Meeting in the Trees

Disclaimer: all characters, settings, and elvish language are strictly from the mind of J.R.R. Tolkien or inspired by him.  
  
Chapter IV  
  
A Meeting Under the Trees  
  
  
As Legolas had expected the conversation had continued long into the evening. Faramir had dinner brought to them on the veranda soon after sundown, and the good stewards of the household had lit biers all around the balcony to ward off the chill. The fires, however, did little to warm the elf's disposition or brighten his mood. Faramir's tidings had understandably distressed him. Like Faramir he had a feeling that that Luvien's death was somehow connected, but the link, if there was one, eluded him. He needed to clear his head.  
  
At the first opportunity Legolas excused himself from the others and departed. He went quickly and not back to the rooms he shared with Gimli, for the perceptive dwarf had undoubtedly sensed his mood and would seek him out to ask him what was bothering him. Legolas loved him for his concern, but at the moment he needed to be alone.  
  
Thoughts continued to tumble chaotically inside his head, and so he paid little attention to where he was going. Soon he found himself leaving the citadel and walking through the streets of Amon Galen. He passed by many people as he walked, but few took notice of an elf in this town. So often were elves and dwarves about that the people rarely paid attention anymore. There lives were peaceful, at least for the moment, and in peaceful times humans can quickly grow accustomed to things they would have thought strange only a short time before. Change was harder on the elves.  
  
The elves of Eryn Lasgalen had followed him to this new land in a time when most elves were departing Middle Earth for the Blessed Realm. They had come with him to help re-build a land, which most would not abide in long, alongside dwarves and men. A situation most elves would find nearly intolerable. It is true that his father had some dealings with the dwarves of the Lonely Mountain in days past, but it was for trade alone, and generally the people of Esgaroth had been middlemen to the transactions. It had not been since the first age that elves and dwarves had truly interacted on a regular basis, but even then it was tentative with little love lost between the two.   
  
Legolas and Gimli were very proud of what they had accomplished here in Ithilien. Their community was strong, and if relations were a bit strained at times between their two peoples it was nevertheless peaceful. But Luvien's murder had changed all that, and that angered the usually even-tempered elf. Not only for the deed itself, but also because he seemed so helpless to do anything about the situation. He had sought out Faramir's counsel and though he knew the Prince cared for all who lived within his realm, the murder of one elf was very small in comparison to impending war. Luvien's death lay heavy upon the Legolas's soul, but he knew what was the more important matter, and this knowledge only caused the elf more grief and pain.  
  
Caught up in his thoughts Legolas did not realize that he had left the city and come near to banks of the River Anduin. He blinked in surprise to see it's dark waters flowing lazily by in front of him. Almost soundlessly the great river sped by, only the water lapping at its banks could be heard. Legolas listened intently, and he felt some peace returning to his mind. There was nothing more comforting to elven ears then the sound of water moving. Wherever you found elves in this land there was a great water nearby. Cirdan and his shipwrights lived on the shores of the great sea, in Rivendell were many thundering waterfalls, the entire land of Lothlorien was set between two great rivers, and in his home Thranduil, his father, had built their great hall almost on top of the Forest River. It was a necessity almost as great as that of sustenance to the elves, and Legolas 's feet had seemingly of their own accord brought him to a place where he might calm the storm in his heart. The elf closed his eyes; the mighty Anduin began to slowly wash his thoughts away.  
  
Suddenly the elf tensed. He heard, or rather sensed, the presence of someone nearby. Although it was dark his sharp eyes quickly took in his surroundings. The city was far away glittering in the distance, and the river continued on its never-ending journey to the sea, but he could see no sign of another person. The plain running from Amon Galen to the Anduin was covered in trees. Any number of people could be hiding in their shadows, and Legolas's senses were now screaming at him of imminent danger. He had left his bow in the citadel, but his long knife was at his side and he drew it slowly.  
  
Keeping his back to the river he slowly moved northwards along its banks. He was now certain that whoever was there was up to no good. Noiselessly and carefully he made his way along the bank until he reached the road into Amon Galen. The city walls lay about two leagues from the river's edge, and the road was lined the entire distance with large oaks. Legolas knew that way was treacherous, but he felt remaining here was even more so. The moon was only a few days from being full and Legolas hoped the men in the watchtowers of Minas Mallen would see him and send aid.  
  
He moved forward, eyes searching the shadows of the trees, ears strained for any noise. All remained quiet about him as he neared the halfway mark, but the feeling grew to such force that Legolas spun around fearful that someone was creeping up behind. As he did so he felt a rush of air behind him and ducked only just in time to save his head from being neatly removed from his body. He rolled to one side and was upright in the blink of an eye, but the attacker was swift also and had borne down on him as he rose. Legolas saw the blade out of the corner of his eye and this time as he ducked he stretched one long leg out and swept the feet out of under his foe.  
  
Legolas sprang to his feet again to face the attacker. Whoever he was he was tall, but he was also covered from head to foot in long black robes so that the elf could make out nothing of his features or face. Legolas thought grimly that he looked very much like one of the Nazgul. The robed man brought up a long, curved blade over his head and circled Legolas. As skilled with the blade as Legolas was he realized it was little help against this man's sword and agility. He fought as one who had studied a sword for some length of time.   
  
Suddenly the man rushed in, sword blade swinging in a wide arc down towards the elf's shoulder, but Legolas spun to his right and ducking the blow managed to drive his blade toward the attackers sword arm. It caught fabric but little more. The man in black turned quickly to face him bringing his sword around for another blow. Legolas again ducked low and rolled to his left, but this time the man was prepared. Before Legolas could rise to his feet, one black booted foot met his sword hand. He felt only numbness as his hand was thrown backwards, his long knife flying far behind him into the dark cover of the oaks. He was still kneeling on the ground. His would-be murderer towered over him bringing his blade up for the final thrust, but springing forward Legolas ran straight into the man's stomach bowling him over. The man fell backwards onto the ground.   
  
Pain ripped through Legolas's wounded arm. With a groan he jumped to his feet. He could hear his attacker rising behind him. The elf jumped straight into the air, and with his good arm he caught a low branch from a nearby oak tree. With all his might he swung his body forward hoping his foot would find the man's head. But he had not been fast enough. The attacker spun away from Legolas's foot, swinging his sword wildly. Legolas felt a searing heat along his side. Strength left him and he fell to the earth, crying out as his wounded arm hit the ground. He could feel the blood trickling down from the wound at his side. The world was spinning.  
  
The black-robed man stood over him. It was too dark for the elf to see under the hood, but he could feel the hatred from the man's eyes boring through him. He raised his sword over him for the kill when suddenly an arrow came whistling through the air. Surprised, the man stepped back a pace. The next instant an axe had firmly planted itself in the trunk of a nearby oak tree, and more arrows were sailing past. With a final look at Legolas the man fled into the cover of the trees.  
  
Legolas could hear Gimli and Boromir's voices coming closer. Suddenly the dwarf was looming over him, "What have you gotten yourself into, my friend?" The dwarf's face was nearly panic-stricken, but his voice was steady. To his surprise, Legolas found that he could not respond. Gimli pulled up the elf's bloodstained tunic, the wound in his side was deep and the blood was flowing freely from it. Boromir knelt beside Gimli, "They are fetching a stretcher for him. My father has some of the finest healers in all of Gondor. He will be fine."  
  
Gimli looked down at Legolas, "Do you hear that? You're going to be fine." The dwarf had removed his cloak and was tearing it into strips. He began to carefully bind the wound on Legolas's side while muttering to himself, "Yes, you'll have ample opportunity to make my life miserable." Gimli paused in thought for a moment while continuing to bind the elf's side. "And if you think I don't have anything better to do than play nurse-maid to you you're very much mistaken." Legolas groaned in pain. Gimli finished the makeshift bandage. Men bearing a stretcher approached and lay it next to the injured elf. Pain shot through his arm as they moved him.   
  
Swiftly they carried him back to Minas Mallen. Try as they might the men bearing Legolas were unable to keep the stretcher from being jostled, and with each bump Legolas groaned. Gimli leaned over him and spoke words of comfort, but Legolas had drifted out of consciousness and heard no more. 


	5. A Letter from Eryn Lasgalen

Disclaimer: all characters, settings, and elvish language are strictly from the mind of J.R.R. Tolkien or inspired by him.  
  
Chapter IV  
  
A Letter from Eryn Lasgalen  
  
The room was brightly lit with sunshine coming from an open veranda. The faintest scent of athelas hung in the clean, fresh air. There was no one in the room, but two guards stood watch on the balcony. Scattered throughout were vases of flowers, most of which contained sprigs of the athelas. A faint breeze ruffled the curtains hanging around the bed keeping the room cool and pleasant. And there was a strange sound coming from the floor beside the bed.  
  
Legolas felt very peaceful lying in that room, except for the sound. It entered his subconscious and became impossible to ignore. Picking up a cup on a table next to him the elf poured its contents onto the floor in the area where the noise was coming from. He was rewarded with an end to the racket, but it was replaced by spluttering and dwarvish swearing. A second later a very disgruntled dwarf popped his head up next to the bed to glare at the occupant. Legolas smiled back, innocently.  
  
Try as he might, Gimli was not able to be angry or even fake being angry with his friend. He stood up and clasped the elf's hand fiercely. "Thank Aule, you're awake!"   
  
The rough shaking from the dwarf reminded Legolas sharply of all his wounds. His side burned, and his right arm ached from shoulder to fingertip. Gimli caught the grimace on the elf's face and immediately ceased his shaking, "I am sorry, Legolas. I did not mean to cause you further hurt." The dwarf turned away, but not before Legolas caught a glint of a tear at the corner of one eye. "You gave . . . us . . . quite a scare for a while."  
  
Judging by Gimli's reaction Legolas was fairly certain he had been very near death. "I am fine, Gimli. The wounds are just stiff, as is to be expected. I will be up and about in no time." To prove his point he struggled to sit up straight, but the movement made his side burn with renewed vigor, and he found that his right arm was bound tightly to his body making the maneuver impossible. With a sigh he relaxed back into the sheets.  
  
Angrily the dwarf turned to face Legolas, "Oh, so you think you'll be up and about in no time do you? After lying there, comatose, for ten days you think you'll just spring out of bed and take a morning stroll?!" Gimli leaned over the side of the bed to stare at the elf. It was one of the few times he had ever looked down on Legolas. "It took all the skill of Prince Faramir's best healers to keep you alive, and you are going to rest in that bed until you have fully recovered." Gimli's eyes narrowed and his voice dropped to a low rumble, "If you do not, I have permission to tie you to this bed."  
  
Legolas was tempted to make a smart remark in response, but the practical part of him knew that if the he were to switch places with Gimli then he would also be angry at almost having lost his dearest friend. Legolas nodded at Gimli, "I assure you, dear Gimli, restraints will not be necessary. I will remain here until the healers say I can go."  
  
"Or I do," said a deep, commanding voice.  
  
Legolas looked around the dwarf's head to see Elessar, King of Gondor, standing in the room. Beside him were Faramir, Eowyn, and Boromir. The king looked very regal in long dark green robes with golden embroidery at the neck and hem, not at all like the ranger Aragorn who had accompanied Legolas and Gimli during the War of the Ring.  
  
"Now, Gimli," King Elessar spoke with only a hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth, "if you are done threatening our good elf then perhaps I can have a look at his wounds."  
  
Gimli gave Legolas one final glare as if he thought the elf would try to get up and dance a jig the minute his back was turned. He then stepped out of the way and Elessar knelt beside the bed. Loosening the bandages around the elf's waist he looked intently at the gash left behind from the attacker. His face was grave. "Legolas, you are most hardy, even for an elf. I know few who could have suffered such a wound and lived to tell the tale." He re-wrapped the wound, "But it is healing, and I do believe you shall recover fully."  
  
"What of my arm?" asked the elf. "Why is it bound to my body?"  
  
"Your arm was dislocated at the shoulder during your battle, and I believe your elbow was sprained for it is quite swollen. It should not be moved until the swelling has subsided."  
  
"I am honored to have you attend me, my lord, and I thank you. But, I do not seek to have the King of Gondor as my healer. Besides I have a wonderful dwarf for a nursemaid."  
  
Elessar fought off a smile and said, "Legolas, you are my friend first and foremost. I have only done what you would have done in my stead."  
  
The king stood and the others approached. All wished the elf a speedy recovery and promised to return and keep him company while he recuperated. They did not stay long, however. Eliessa, the head healer asked all who were present to depart for Legolas required much rest. When they did not leave immediately she proceeded to give a tongue-lashing to all making certain that all knew that even the King of Gondor and the Prince of Ithilien held no power in her domain. Gimli argued with her, but after a few comments regarding the dwarf's scent after days in the room without a bath he left as well.  
  
Legolas smiled to himself at the wounded look on Gimli's face, but his elven senses were not completely dulled by his physical state. Elessar, Faramir, and Eowyn all had worn troubled faces despite the cheery masks they had put on for his benefit. Something else was amiss, but he knew they would not speak of whatever it was to him in his current state. He briefly wondered what could be wrong, but the thoughts drifted away from him. Within moments the elf was again fast asleep.  
  
………………………………………………………………………………………………  
  
The following day dawned gray and dreary. A storm had blown in during the night. Someone had lit a fire in the room to help ward off the chill. Winter was coming, and even though Amon Galen lay far to the south it was not free from chill weather. As if she had sensed the elf waking Eliessa entered the room carrying a tray with food. "Well, the color is coming back to your cheeks, which is a good sign. But that wound in your side still bears close watching." Setting the tray down on a table next to the bed she helped the elf to a sitting position propping him up with many folded blankets. "I'll warrant you're starving after not having any real food for eleven days now. We managed to get some water in you, but that doesn't help an empty stomach." She placed the tray onto the bed. "Now take it slow. You don't want an upset stomach to go with that hole in your side do you?"  
  
The healer went to the fire and lifted a kettle of water from it. She poured the steaming water into a bowl at the foot of the bed and immediately the healing scent of athelas filled the air. Replacing the kettle over the fire she turned again to Legolas who was working on his favorite sweet cakes, "Slowly," she admonished. "Now, I will be back later for the tray." With that she swept purposefully from the room and was gone. Legolas smiled, for the healing woman's disposition so reminded him of his good friend, Gimli.  
  
The food was wonderful, and coupled with the athelas Legolas felt almost as if he could get up and walk. Imagining the look on Eliessa's face, or worse, Gimli's, made him think better of the idea though. He was about to start in on his third sweet cake when Faramir and Elessar entered the room.  
  
"It is good to see you upright, Legolas. How do you feel?" asked the king.  
  
"Much better, though I am still quite stiff and sore, thank you."  
  
"That is a minor thing considering the severity of your injuries. I also am glad to see you awake and alert."  
  
Legolas put aside the cake for later and looked at the two men. Their faces still bore a masked sadness. "You are making brave efforts to conceal your minds to me, but I can tell something troubles you both greatly. I am well enough to hear bad news."  
  
"There is grave news which we must deliver to you." Said Faramir. "Two more of your elves have been murdered in Edhil-e-londe."  
  
Legolas was stunned and his heart ached to hear the news. "Who were they?" he asked.  
  
"Lanuitha and Teleren. There bodies were discovered near to the southern borders of your valley in much the same manner as Luvien," said Faramir.  
  
Legolas thought of the two elves. Teleren had been his friend all his life as they were close to the same age. They had fought in the Battle of Five Armies side-by-side. Lanuitha was Teleren's his wife. Legolas thought it a small mercy that they would not have to bear the pain of living one without the other. Yet deep inside the elf a rage began to grow. Born of helplessness and suffering the elf experienced a fury unlike any he had ever felt before, and though he wanted to scream only tears sprang to his eyes, and he wept.  
  
Faramir placed a hand on the elf's shoulder. "You are not alone in your grief, Legolas, nor are the elves alone to fight this battle. Though they resisted I have ordered all the elves of Edhil-e-londe to come to Amon Galen. The last of your people arrived here three days ago accompanied by a guard of 100 men. They are well protected here, Legolas."  
  
"And I have personally searched the area where Lanuitha and Teleren were discovered," said Elessar, "as well as their home. There was a great struggle in their house. I found a piece of a black cloak much the same as your attacker wore. There had to have been more than one in order to subdue both of them. I did find tracks leading to the place in the woods were the bodies lay, but I found no sign of tracks leading away from there. Whoever they are they must have some knowledge of tracking and have done their best to disguise their trail."  
  
"There is one other thing, Legolas, though it pains me to say it." The king's face looked haggard and worn, much as it had during his years as a ranger, "I am not infallible, but the tracks leading to the woods appeared to that of elves."  
  
Legolas was stunned at the implication, "But might not Lanuitha and Teleren have been forced to march to the site of their death?"  
  
Aragorn nodded, "Indeed I believe they were, but I found 8 distinct sets of footprints, all bearing the light mark of an elf."  
  
Legolas looked horror-stricken, "There is no one within my charge who could commit such an act!"  
  
"I can only speak from my knowledge and experience as a tracker. The evidence tells only facts, but does not impart the whole story. My belief as to what race of person made those footprints does not go so far as to say from whence they came. There are, after all, other elves in Middle-earth."  
  
The elf could not believe what he was hearing. Murder and foul play were unheard of in all the elven realms he knew of. There were stories, of elves from the First Age, who had committed unspeakable acts. But that was long ago, and he knew of nothing in his own time that would support Elessar's theory. Even the thought of an elf committing such brutal violence on another elf was unimaginable  
  
Aragorn looked at Legolas in sympathy. "I know that my words have brought more hurt to an already painful situation, but if we are to bring swift justice to those who have committed crimes against us and our people then all possibilities must be looked upon."  
  
Slowly the anger began to subside within Legolas. "I am sorry Elessar. I have spoken only from my heart when a cool head is what is required. On behalf of my people I thank you for all that you have done." Legolas bowed his head.  
  
The king bowed his head in return, "I believe your people are safe within the confines of Amon Galen. I have sent word to the rangers up north. Some should arrive shortly to aid you in your hunt for the murderers. I must return to Minas Tirith. It seems war may be coming to Gondor again and I must make ready." Aragorn clasped the elf's hand firmly. "You I command to rest and recover from your wounds quickly. Your people have need of you, as does Faramir."  
  
"I wish you great speed on your journey and a warm homecoming," said Legolas.  
  
"I must leave you here for awhile," said Faramir. "It is my duty to see Elessar safely on the road, and besides Eliessa has been glaring at me through the door which is a good sign that it is time for me to leave you to rest."  
  
Legolas smiled, "Of course you must go, but one thing before you leave. Where is Gimli? I had hoped to see him this morning."  
  
Faramir smiled, "The dwarf was celebrating your health with the elves last night. He apparently had a bit too much elven wine, and he fell asleep next to the fountain at the heart of Minas Mallen. Several elves were needed to carry him back to his room. He was still asleep the last I heard." Wide grins spread across the faces of Faramir and Elessar. Legolas laughed out loud.  
  
"Farewell, Legolas," said the king as he turned to leave.  
  
"Farewell," replied the elf as the two men left the room.  
  
Eliessa immediately entered and set to work tending his injuries. There was still a great deal of pain in his side as she redressed the wound with fresh athelas, but the elf hardly noticed. He was too busy trying to picture the faces of the elves who had carried an inebriated dwarf to bed.  
  
………………………………………………………………………………….  
  
Days passed and then weeks and slowly Legolas recovered from his wounds. He had been allowed to return to his own room within a week after waking. Faramir had stationed two guards outside his door and two others on the balcony into his room, and Legolas's own people had insisted on providing him with a personal guard. But there were no more attacks.  
  
Faramir had sent many of his soldiers to search out the area near Edhil-e-londe, but they found no signs of the killers. The elves had begun to talk of returning home, but Faramir was against it. The situation would have been mush worse if there had been little to occupy the elves, but there was work to be done. The city was not complete, but more importantly, there was war to prepare for.  
  
More scouts had been sent to Mordor, and the news was not encouraging. The orcs and Easterlings continued to amass weaponry and armor, and there was evidence that both groups were training their people for combat. They had not begun to move towards Gondor, but all felt that war was imminent. King Elessar had prepared his soldiers to march to Ithilien at need, and Eomer had done much the same with his Rohirrim. Gondor was poised for battle.  
  
Legolas had spent much of his time discussing war tactics with Faramir and Boromir. The elf-prince was confident in the skill of his elves in battle, and so his people spent a great deal of time helping to train the men of Ithilien. Gimli had returned to the mines to oversee operations. The dwarves toiled tirelessly to provide ore for the forging of weapons and armor. Faramir had sent a contingent of his soldiers to the mines for the dwarves' protection, but no dwarf had disappeared or been attacked. It seemed the killers were intent on elves alone.  
  
On a chilly afternoon in November a rider arrived bearing a letter from King Thranduil out of Eryn Lasgalen. The courier was taken immediately to Minas Mallen, and some of Faramir's guards brought him to the room where he and Legolas were making further plans. Faluin was the elf's name, and as soon as his arrival was announced he bowed low before Faramir, "King Thranduil sends his regards to Prince Faramir, and also to Prince Legolas." Again the elf bowed before the elf.  
  
Faramir strode forward, "You are well received, Faluin of Eryn Lasgalen. Does your king send word?"  
  
Faluin bowed again to Faramir, "He does, my lord, but the letter is for Legolas. The king apologizes for not sending the letter directly to you, but after you hear its contents he hopes you can forgive him this minor breach in etiquette. If not he hopes you will see it is only because of a father's concern for his son."  
  
Legolas was puzzled by the elf's remarks, but took the letter that was handed to him. He broke the seal and quickly skimmed the contents. After a moment he spoke, "The letter is written in the language of my people, but I will translate into the common tongue for you."  
  
  
  
My Dearest Legolas,  
  
I am greatly distressed by the news Faramir has sent from Ithilien. Though they are of great import and should not be taken lightly it is not the threat of those in Mordor that concerns me most. Instead, it is the murder of Luvien. You are in graver peril than you realize. I have witnessed elves murdered in the fashion described in Faramir's letter though it has been many years, even by elven standards, since they occurred.   
  
These enemies are more dangerous than almost any you have ever encountered. It would be best if you and all the elves of Edhil-e-Londe seek refuge in Amon Galen. They are cunning warriors, and can easily overpower a lone elf. You will find safety in numbers. Do not seek them out. I have knowledge of this enemy, for though I have never spoken to you of this, I played a central role in their long history. And so I feel I must come to Ithilien to play out my part. When you receive this letter I will have left Eryn Lasgalen for Ithilien. Expect me at the next new moon.  
  
All elves should be alert and ready at all times, but do nothing until I arrive. I alone know the depths of our enemy's hatred and malice, for they bear great resentment and anger towards me. I feel it is no coincidence that they have chosen to reveal themselves in a land ruled by Thranduil's son. You must be careful, Legolas, for you are more valuable to them than all the mithril ever mined in Moria.  
  
I fear that my past returns to haunt me.  
  
Thranduil  
  
  
  
Legolas sat down. The words of the letter expressed a fear Legolas had never seen in his father. That uneasy feeling he had first experienced when he and Gimli had discovered Luvien's body had returned. He had said to Gimli then that he felt there was more peril in the murder than was apparent at the time. His father's letter confirmed this, and Legolas could do nothing but sit and wait. 


	6. Khazadbizar

Disclaimer: all characters, settings, and elvish language are strictly from the mind of J.R.R. Tolkien or inspired by him.  
  
1 Chapter VI  
  
Khazad-bizar  
  
The sun was sinking into the west casting a red glow on the Emyn Arnen. The mountains were not nearly as high and majestic as the Misty Mountains in the west or the nearby White Mountains, but what they lacked in height the made up for in beauty. Emyn Arnen meant "Mountains of the Noble Valleys", and so they were. It was in one of these valleys that Edhil-e-londe lay, and the others were no less beautiful. They were filled with giant oak trees whose thick branches often spanned more than 50 spans from tip to tip. Further up the mountainside the trees changed to rowan and beech, and the uppermost reaches of the mountains were covered in thick groves of pine trees. Few rocky escarpments could be seen on the Emyn Arnen and snow rarely fell on them. In summer months the mountains were varying shades of green from valley to peak, but in the fall they positively blazed with every hue of red, orange, and yellow.  
  
Boromir, son of Faramir and Eowyn, made his way through one of these valleys. The year was waning and few of the trees in the valley bore any leaves at all, except the evergreens in the heights. Still, the land was beautiful. The air was crisp and the earthy smell of rotting leaves hung thick in the air. A small brook ran through the valley, taking its time, wandering the many dells and vales before finding its way to the great River Anduin. The air was cool and refreshing and Boromir took a deep draught to fill his lungs and revive his weary body.  
  
He had been sent by his father to the dwarven mines of Khazad-bizar. The dwarves had been hard at work excavating the rich ore from the roots of the mountains, and their smithies had been turning out fine weaponry. Boromir's visit was diplomatic in nature. Faramir believed in keeping abreast of all his communities not just the nearby Amon Galen, and since Boromir had grown into manhood he had placed upon him the responsibility of visiting the outlying settlements.  
  
Boromir rather enjoyed this freedom. Though he loved his parents dearly they were ever watchful of him in Minas Mallen. Many times had Boromir heard tales of his uncle when he was Third Marshall of the Riddermark, and of his glories in battle. And also of his father's stand at Osgiliath holding the forces of Sauron at bay, and even of his mother's bravery when she slew the terrible king of the nazgul and nearly lost her life. Boromir was heir to a legacy of two great families, and every fiber of his being was longing to be tested in the throws of battle. It was not that he did not appreciate the peace, which had been dearly bought by so many even of his own kin, but the ease of his life did not sit well with him. He eagerly looked forward to each journey into the far reaches of Ithilien where he was free to lead his men and meet any challenges that might befall him.  
  
The crown prince and his guard rounded a great shoulder of a nearby mountain and came within sight of the entrance to Khazad-bizar. The way in was neither grand nor ornate, merely a small archway into the side of the mountain. This was intentional, for in the event of an attack the opening could be easily defended.  
  
As they drew near Boromir raised his hand in a silent command to halt. The twelve men of his personal guard reined in their horses and waited for the prince's orders. Both men of Gondor and men of Rohan had sworn allegiance to the heir of Ithilien. A strange company they may have looked to outsiders, but Boromir trusted each man with his life. The rangers from up north had trained them, and like those grim men they held a constant vigil for signs of danger.  
  
Boromir saw no sign of dwarf or man at the entrance, but he knew there were guards within. "All hail the dwarves of Khazad-bizar!" he called in a loud voice, "All hail Gimli, son of Gloin, and ruler of Khazad-bizar! I, Boromir, son of Faramir, ask leave to enter for myself and my men!"  
  
The prince's voice echoed among the mountains then faded away. After a few moments two dwarves appeared out of the entranceway and the first one called back, "All hail Boromir, son of Faramir! Welcome to Khazad-bizar! You have leave to enter."  
  
With formalities now out of the way Boromir dismounted and came to greet the two dwarves. They were the brothers Mali and Gali and Boromir knew them well. "It is good to see you again my friends. How goes it with you?"  
  
Both dwarves bowed low to the prince. "Greetings to you, sire. All is well within. The dwarves toil night and day, but such labor is close to our hearts and so it seems not so difficult to us," said Mali.  
  
"Spoken like a true dwarf, Mali," laughed Boromir, "But even dwarves must rest from time-to-time. My father sends his greetings and also this gift." Boromir motioned to a large wagon at the rear of his contingent. "Inside you will find a great quantity of the pale ale brewed by the men of Amon Galen. Gimli was quite fond of it when last he was in my father's city." Both dwarfs' eyes lit up at the mention of the beer. It was hotly contested as to which the dwarves prized more: gold or a fine mug of ale. In any case Boromir was assured that the gift would be well received.  
  
Gali strode forward, "Follow me, sirs, and I will bring you to the stable for your horses." Boromir and his men followed the dwarf into the heart of a deep cleft where two of the mountains came suddenly together. In the recess was a large stable. It had been constructed by the elves of Edhil-e- londe and so was not made of stone, but of sturdy oak. The rivulet from a ribbon-like waterfall flowed through the midst of the stable providing water for the animals. Inside Boromir spotted Gimli's pony. He was not alone. At least a dozen similar ponies were lazily chewing on hay beside him. Gimli was not the only dwarf to suffer the humiliation of learning to ride.  
  
"Leave your beasts to me, sirs," said Gali. "I assure you they will be well cared for." Gali was the only dwarf that Boromir knew of who actually liked horses and ponies. He even had some skill in riding the animals. The dwarves of Khazad-bizar all thought Gali had lost all sense, but he paid little attention to them, and in fact had a small house next to the stable where he spent most of his time. Mali motioned for Boromir and his company to follow, "Come. I will bring you to see Gimli."  
  
The way into the mine was a long tunnel which wound its way slowly downwards and into the heart of the mountain. It was lined with many torches that cast shadows everywhere. Though Boromir knew this to be the dwelling of a good and decent people the deep places of the earth had always held an air of unwholesomeness to him. He could feel the tension in his men as they descended into the city of the dwarves. The tunnel continued on for more than a league with no branches or side corridors until it ended finally at a great cavernous hall.  
  
Though not nearly as large as the great hall in Moria it was still massive. Two great rows of fluted columns ran the length of the hall. Each column was a good 5 spans across and reached more than 50 spans to the ceiling above. The cavern had been painstakingly carved out, stone by stone. Gimli had brought over 500 dwarves to Ithilien, but in the eighteen years since the work was begun this hall had been completed only a year ago. So for now it was filled with tables and chairs so that the dwarves might use it as a meeting hall as well as a place to take meals together. Large braziers were lit throughout the chamber, but for light rather than heat. Boromir passed a hand over his brow. He had forgotten how stuffy and warm Khazad-bizar was.  
  
Mali continued through the great hall and eventually through another door on the far side. This tunnel was wider than the one leading into the city and many others branched away from it. Mali led them through a maze of tunnels to a large room. Boromir recognized it as Gimli's greeting chamber, but although he had been here many times he was certain he would never be able to successfully navigate the tunnels they had taken to arrive here. The young prince had often thought that dwarves made the tunnels of their cities in a maze-like pattern so that any enemies who might breach the inner sanctum of the city would become confused and lost.  
  
"Here is where I leave you, sirs," Mali bowed to Boromir's men and then to Boromir, "Sire." He quickly departed and as he left another dwarf entered the room from a side entrance,  
  
"Greetings Prince Boromir. You and your men are most welcome in the halls of Khazad-bizar." The dwarf bowed low.  
  
A mischievous look came across the prince's face, "We are most honored to be welcomed into Khazad-bizar, but as near as I can tell there is as yet only one hall. Have you excavated another, Nomi?"  
  
The dwarf glared fiercely at Boromir, "There is entirely too much of your father in you. Your mother always speaks with a graceful and beautiful tongue, but you and your father speak insults with every other breath. The dwarves will not stand for further verbal abuse." The dwarf snorted with righteous indignation.  
  
Boromir could not help the smile which spread across his face. "My good Nomi, you are as cheerful as ever, and I do believe your sense of humor is developing nicely."  
  
Boromir's men turned suddenly at the sound of a door opening behind them. It was Gimli, and he strode into the room with all the bearing and countenance of royalty. When he reached Boromir and Nomi he took one appraising look at them and then laughed out loud, "So, Nomi, has our young prince here offended your delicate ears yet again. Pay no attention to him, he has learned all his manners and speech from Legolas. We must pity those who have been afforded such poor instruction."  
  
Nomi sorted with irritation, "Perhaps a few weeks under my tutelage would do him some good."  
  
"Undoubtedly so," said Gimli, "I shall have to speak to his father of this."  
  
Boromir laughed, "Threatening to teach my Uncle Eomer polite speech availed to little, as you'll recall Master Gimli. There are those who say I am even more willful and wayward than he. I may be a hopeless case."  
  
"Yes, you are," said Gimli. Unable to contain his laughter any longer Boromir let out a loud guffaw and was soon joined by Gimli and his men. Only Nomi remained stone-faced.  
  
"Come and sit," Gimli motioned them all to a table in the corner. "Food and drink will be arriving shortly. Tell me, how was your journey?"  
  
"Uneventful," said Boromir with a hint of disappointment in his voice.  
  
Gimli was well aware of the young man's eagerness to prove himself in battle, and he had lectured him on this many times, but it would be wrong to admonish him in front of his men. The dwarf could not help thinking that Boromir might be granted his wish in the near future if things played out as all feared they would.  
  
"How are your father and mother? I trust they are well," said Gimli.  
  
"They are in excellent health, though they both continue to brood over the news out of Mordor."  
  
Gimli nodded in agreement, "As we all do. And how is that daft elf, Legolas? Is he managing to keep out of trouble?"  
  
Boromir smiled to himself. Everyone who knew them was aware of the great love Legolas and Gimli bore for one another, but all were smart enough to never utter that knowledge in their presence. "He is, master dwarf. His wounds have completely healed it seems, though it pains him that he is unable to leave the protection of Minas Mallen."  
  
Gimli was surprised, "Unable to leave Minas Mallen? Isn't your father taking things a bit far? The elf should be allowed out into the city at least."  
  
"He would be, if not for the letter from King Thranduil claiming Legolas's life was in great danger."  
  
Gimli's eyes narrowed at the mention of Thranduil. His love for Legolas did not extend to the elf's father. Many years ago he had captured and put Gimli's father, Gloin, in the dungeon of his woodland hall along with 13 other dwarves. Eventually amends were made, but Gimli did not bear much love for the king of the woodland elves, and although dwarves were now welcome into his realm Thranduil still regarded them with some doubt and suspicion. But Gimli was more interested in the king's message. "Boromir, tell me precisely what Thranduil wrote in that letter."  
  
Boromir related the contents of the correspondence to the dwarf. Gimli was very distressed by the news. "And did he not say any more? Who are these murderers? And what do they want with Legolas?"  
  
"I have related all that he said to you. I believe by the tone of the letter that he wished to discuss the details with Legolas personally," said Boromir. "It appears the king has a dark secret to tell."  
  
"Yes, and his past may prove to be the downfall of his son." The dwarf continued somewhat angrily, "Well, he is safe enough within the confines of Minas Mallen. When Thranduil arrives perhaps he can shed some light on the murderers, and then we will find them and make certain that they trouble Legolas no more."  
  
Boromir nodded in agreement. He also considered the elf a friend, and would not easily suffer harm done to him.  
  
There was the sound of a door opening at the back of the room, and Gimli clapped his hands together with delight, "Ah, our food has arrived. I hope you all have brought empty stomachs with you." But the last words died on Gimli's lips.  
  
Instead of the serving dwarves from his kitchen twenty black-robed men with swords at the ready had entered the room. Boromir's men jumped to their feet and drew their swords, as did Boromir. This seemed to startle the enemy, who had apparently not expected armed fighting men of Ithilien to be present, but they regained their composure quickly. Boromir's men ran at the intruders shouting, "Ithilien! Ithilien!"  
  
Boromir charged into the fray and was immediately met by one of the tall men in black. His sword flashed in a wide arc before his eyes, but his foe's blade was there to meet it. Quickly the intruder spun around with a blow aimed at Boromir's head, but the prince ducked and as he went to one knee he jabbed upwards with his blade. The enemy danced backwards out of harms way, but in doing so he tripped over the body of one of Boromir's men and fell. Boromir was upon him before he could rise and with all his might he ran his blade through the body of the cloaked figure.  
  
Briefly he stood there with his sword imbedded in the body of his foe. The body twitched momentarily and then was still. Never before had Boromir, crown prince of Ithilien, taken another man's life, and he was now overcome with emotion. But although he was young and unaccustomed to real battle he had trained hard and well with the rangers, and their lessons are not easily forgotten. Though he knew not how long he had stood there eventually his mind returned to the battle at hand.  
  
Several bodies lay motionless on the floor. The entire chamber was empty of people except for one man still fighting one of the attackers off to his left. Boromir ran to his aid, and though the black-robed man was highly skilled in the use of the sword he could not overcome to ranger-trained soldiers. With a mighty thrust Boromir impaled him. The man hung there a moment gasping and choking then he slid to the floor a lifeless corpse.  
  
Boromir turned to his guard, a man called Andru, "Are you hurt?"  
  
"No, sire, I am well."  
  
Boromir looked around. There on the floor were the bodies of five of his guard. There, also, lay three of the attackers. The prince bent over the dead attacker at his feet and pulled back the hood. Andru drew in his breath sharply. Under the hood was not the face of a man, but of an elf. He was beautiful yet cold. His dark eyes were full of malice, even in death. "So, King Elessar was correct," he muttered to himself.  
  
Andru took his arm. "Come, sire, the others fled this way after our enemy."  
  
Boromir followed Andru out of one of the doors and into a tunnel. Had it not been for the bodies of dwarves lying at intervals along the enemy's escape route they might have become lost. Soon they found themselves in the large gathering hall of Khazad-bizar. There was great confusion in the hall for the dwarves were lamenting the dead and tending to the wounded. Andru pointed to their left and Boromir saw another of his guard lying dead. Not far from his body was one of the elves laying facedown, an axe protruding from his back.  
  
Guessing that the enemy had tried for the main entrance they hurried across the great hall and entered into tunnel heading for the surface. It took only minutes, but it seemed like hours to Boromir for them to reach the top. Finally they burst out of the tunnel into the darkness.  
  
The waxing moon gave little light to see by and it took a few moments for Boromir's vision to adjust, but his eyes were loath to see the devastation left behind by the elves. Two more of Boromir's men lay dead on the ground, and next to them was the body of Mali. Two of the elves lay dead as well. Momentarily overcome with grief the prince stood rooted to the ground unable to think or move.  
  
One of his men shouted from the direction of the stables shaking Boromir from his stupor. He and Andru ran toward his voice. Torches were lit here, but they illuminated a dreadful scene. All their horses and the dwarves' ponies lay slaughtered upon the earth. The small stream in the middle ran red with blood, and Gali lay in a pool of his own blood, his hand still gripping the haft of his axe.  
  
The remaining four members of his guard gathered around Boromir. Though all were seasoned warriors who had fought in the War of the Ring there was not one among them who did not appear shaken. Boromir knew that now was the time that true leadership was needed, but he did not know what to say to his men. Gripping Andru's shoulder tightly he said, "Go and find Gimli, if he is still alive. Though we are grieving there is much work to be done tonight."  
  
Andru nodded in understanding, but before he could leave, Tolmoth, the captain of his guard spoke up. "Gimli may yet be alive sir, but you will not find him in Khazad-bizar. The enemy has fled with him as their captive."  
  
"Gimli was taken alive? Why?" Boromir could not believe the news he was hearing. This enemy seemed to prefer death to captives. Why start now?  
  
"I do not know, sire, but when they attacked a number of them grabbed Master Gimli and then ran. We gave chase, but we were sorely outnumbered against such skilled warriors. Still, we made it to the surface here in time for me to see the dwarf being carried away by these men."  
  
"Not men, Tolmoth. They were elves," said Andru.  
  
Rarely was the captain of Boromir's guard surprised by anything, but Andru's words had rendered him speechless.  
  
"It is true," spoke the prince. "We unveiled one back in Gimli's greeting chamber." The four men stared at Boromir with looks of complete disbelief. "There is more, though I have not spoken of this to you before now for we were not certain. King Elessar's inspection of the site where Lanuitha and Teleren were murdered had led him to believe that the murderers had been elves."  
  
Tolmoth shook his head, "This is grave news indeed, and unlooked for."  
  
Boromir took a deep breath, "Yes, Tolmoth it is grave, and unlooked for, but we must now take action. The dwarves of Khazad-bizar will need our help to bury their dead and the horses and ponies in the stable. Then we must attend to our own dead, though I fear their bodies must remain here until we can return. Without our horses we cannot carry them if we hope to reach Amon Galen quickly. Tomorrow will be a long march for us, and one fraught with peril. We do not know the designs of our enemy or where they have gone. I do not believe we shall receive much rest in the coming days."  
  
"I, for one, should be glad of that," said Tolmoth, "for what dreams may be borne out of such a day I do not want to know. 


	7. An Uneasy Treachery

A/N: I apologize it took me so long to post this next chapter. I have company in town, and I have not had as much time to write as I would like. Also, I would very much like to thank all of you who have read my story and especially those of you who have reviewed it. I greatly appreciate all of your comments, and also any corrections to errors I might make. Tolkien's world is so complex it is very easy for me to make mistakes. The next chapter will be very heavy in The Silmarillion and so I have my Complete Guide to Middle-Earth and my encyclopedia close at hand, but I know I am going to miss some details. This is half the fun of writing LotR fan fics for me though. So, please, continue to R/R. It is wonderful to have your opinions.  
  
Chapter VII  
  
An Uneasy Treachery  
  
  
  
The trumpets sounded from atop Minas Mallen to announce the coming of the dawn. It was now the second morning since the attack at Khazad-bizar and Boromir and his remaining four guards had come within sight of the capital city of Ithilien. They were running at a steady pace as they had done for the entire night, but tired as they were their steps quickened at the sight of their journey's end.  
  
After the attacks Boromir and his men had toiled long helping the dwarves to bury their dead. Seventeen of Gimli's dwarfs had perished in the skirmish, including his successor, Nomi. The dwarves were a hearty folk and they bore their grief well, but where there had been the sounds of hammers in Khazad-bizar there were now funeral dirges lifted up on deep, rumbling voices. The bodies of the horses and ponies had been buried as well, and the blood had been washed away, but Boromir wondered if any animal would ever suffer to be stabled there again.  
  
The prince and his men discussed what to do with the bodies of their fallen comrades, and finally it was decided to bury them here on the shoulder of the mountain that stood over the dwarves' mine. Their spirits forever watched over Khazad-bizar, and it was said that no enemy passed the entrance to that mine for a dreadful fear would come over them ere they approached. The bodies of the elves had been carried up the mountainside and laid out on a stretch of grass. There the foul carrion and dark creatures of the earth would feast upon their bodies until there was naught left of them. The work had lasted throughout the night and much of the following day.  
  
Boromir and Tolmoth had discussed whether to take their journey by daylight or under cover of darkness. Both agreed that the capture of Gimli was intended to bring Legolas out of the protection of Minas Mallen, and so they felt there was little chance they would be attacked. Still, they agreed to leave under cover of darkness, and so it was that after the moon had set they had left Khazad-bizar for Amon Galen.  
  
They had run at a steady pace throughout most of the evening walking for short spells to conserve their energy. The sun had risen fully above the Emyn Arnen as the men crossed the marble bridge and entered into Amon Galen. They had not come far through the city when they were met by soldiers from Minas Mallen.  
  
"Hail, Boromir!" said the man at the front of the squad.  
  
Boromir and his men halted. "Hail, Thaldin!"  
  
Thaldin looked concerned, "We were not expecting your return for many days yet, my lord. And now you come to us, only four and without your horses. What are the tidings?"  
  
"The tidings are grim, Captain! I must see my father immediately. Dispatch one of your guard to tell the prince of my return, and to request an audience."  
  
Thaldin turned and with a flick of his wrist one man stepped out and ran with all speed back towards the tower. Boromir and his men set off as well for the tower, but at a much slower pace, flanked by Thaldin and his men.  
  
When they arrived at Minas Mallen the soldier who had been dispatched to find Faramir was waiting for them at the gate. "Your father bids you come to his rooms immediately."  
  
Boromir stopped and turned to his men. "You all are ordered to find food and rest immediately. I do not know how long it will be before our services are needed yet again. My hope is we shall be out hunting the dark elves ere long. Use this time to rest." The four men immediately left for their quarters, and Boromir headed down the hall leading to part of the citadel that housed the royal family.  
  
As always two guards were posted outside his father's rooms, but they moved aside when he approached. Boromir knocked on the door, and his father's rich voice called for him to enter. Inside, the sitting room was flooded with the early morning sunlight. His father was standing by the fireplace when Boromir entered, and the young man could tell he had been pacing. "Father, I bring ill news from Khazad-bizar." Faramir looked at him with troubled eyes, and he nodded for Boromir to continue. "Two nights ago the mine was attacked by persons wearing the black robes similar to the one who attacked Legolas a month ago. The battle was short, though many lives were lost. I do not think, however, that their intent was to kill dwarves as they made straight for Master Gimli's rooms and abducted him. The captain of my guard, Tolmoth, witnessed the dwarf being spirited away by the attackers."  
  
Long before Boromir had finished this part of the story his father had begun pacing the room again. Prince Faramir walked to the table in the center of the room and slammed his fist upon it, "Who are these murderers, and now seemingly kidnappers?! Damn Thranduil for his cryptic message! He has given us nothing with which to defend ourselves!!!"  
  
Boromir moved closer to his father and lowered his voice, "There is more, Father. We were able to bring down 5 of the attackers, though at a great price. I lost eight of my guard, and seventeen of the dwarves were slain, including Nomi. They were elves."  
  
Faramir's eyes bore into his son's. The news was not a complete surprise, but until that moment he had hoped that King Elessar's words would prove false. "Gimli's kidnapping is undoubtedly a move to force Legolas to leave my protection. When he hears this news he will most certainly try to leave. I cannot allow this to happen." The Prince of Ithilien looked worn and haggard. "The moon is nearly gone, and Thranduil should be arriving soon, and undoubtedly he knows much about this. Would that he had gotten here sooner."  
  
Faramir's eyes seemed far away as he pondered the news, but then they suddenly softened and turned again to his son, "I am most relieved that you are unharmed." Seeing the disappointed look in his son's eyes he moved towards him and grasped his shoulder, "And I am proud of you. You have fought bravely against a terrible foe, and then led your men home along an uncertain path. You have proven worthy of the title of Dunadan."  
  
Boromir's eyes did not flinch away from his father's though he felt bare and exposed under their stare. His heart raced to hear the words he had so longed to hear. "Thank you, Father. But much of the glory belongs to my teachers." Boromir winked at Faramir. Though he had studied under many of the Rangers of Ithilien it was his father who had been most prominent in his education.  
  
Faramir nodded, "But a teacher is only as useful as the student is able." He smiled at his son, and Boromir could not help but smile back. In that moment all sorrow and anxiety fled from their countenances, but only briefly for evil was still close at hand.  
  
The prince once again began pacing the room. "Who rules now in Khazad- bizar?"  
  
"Kolim."  
  
"Good, he is wise and has a level-head, for a dwarf." Faramir winked at Boromir. "Undoubtedly he has sent word to Thorin and Gimli's father, Gloin. I think that we should send word to King Elessar and King Eomer as well. With Thranduil coming perhaps it is time for a council.  
  
"Also, we must send soldiers to search out Gimli. If these elves left in a hurry there may yet be signs of their passing in the wood. I will send Danethil and two other Rangers besides. They must leave immediately before the trail grows too cold.  
  
Faramir went to the door from which Boromir had entered and instructed one of the guards to send for Danethil and the Prince's scribe. That done he turned again to face his son. The young man was seated in one of the chairs leaned back so that his head was resting on its back. His normally clean-shaven face was covered in fine golden-red hairs, there were dark circles under his eyes, and his face was covered in grime and dirt. "I am sorry, my son. You are tired and worn. I should not have kept you so long. Go and rest, as I am sure you have already instructed your men to do."  
  
Boromir could not argue for his eyes had grown heavy and his mind had become foggy with weariness. He rose and bowing to his father returned to the hall outside and soon found himself within the peace and quiet of his own rooms. He removed his sword and boots, and as he did so his stomach grumbled with hunger. He ignored it for the call of his pillow was much stronger. Prince Boromir lay down upon his bed and within moments had passed into a deep sleep.  
  
……………………………………………………………………………………….  
  
Dwarves were running everywhere being chased by dark elves in black robes. Though they fought valiantly they were slowly being massacred one-by-one. He tried to move, but his legs seemed to be frozen. A golden-haired elf ran past him chased hard by one of his dark brothers. He shouted a warning, but the dark elf was upon him too quickly. The sword blade went easily through the elf's neck; his head fell and rolled away. The dwarves were no longer running. Instead they were singing their funeral dirge and carrying Gimli's body to a funeral pyre. The black-cloaked elves took no notice and continued their slaughter. Suddenly Legolas ran in front of him, "Help me, Boromir! You must help me!" Boromir tried to move, to reach for his sword, anything, but his limbs would not obey. Legolas continued to shout at him, "Boromir! Boromir!"  
  
"Boromir. Boromir!" He woke with a start searching frantically for the elf-prince, but he found only his mother sitting at his bedside. "I did not mean to startle you, my son, but you were dreaming and seemed quite distressed."  
  
The prince sat up and took several deep breaths. He looked at his mother. There was a great worry in her eyes. "'It was only a nightmare borne out of these dark tidings, but it has passed." His mother looked as if she wanted to embrace him, but after looking at him again she thought better of it. He took her hand, "It is fleeting, Mother. Besides, are not such things to be expected?"  
  
She gripped his hand tightly and smiled, "Yes, of course, but do not blame a mother for wishing she could protect her son from such suffering." Eowyn rose and went to Boromir's wardrobe and began to search for a shirt for him. "Your father expects you in the Meeting Hall an hour after sunset. There is a great deal to discuss. Word was sent to Eomer and Elessar about the latest attack. Your father has requested that they come here as soon as possible. If there are no unforeseen problems we expect their arrival tomorrow or the day after, and Thranduil should be arriving any day as well." She pulled a dark green shirt out and laid it on his bed next to the black coat with gold embroidery at the collar.  
  
"I will leave you to your preparations." She turned and opened the door leading out from his bedchamber then turned to him again, "I am glad you are well, Boromir." Her voice was steady, but her eyes were moist at the edges. She did not wait for a response but left quickly shutting the door behind her.  
  
……………………………………………………………………………..  
  
Legolas sat perfectly still, his eyes intent on the water falling in a circular sheet into the fountain well. His breathing came slowly and in even measure. The muscles in his body were relaxed. His mind was devoid of thought. There was nothing except the water. Only the water.  
  
An alert went off in the elf's mind; an internal alarm that told him the time for the meeting had come. Reality swooped down and beat her harsh wings upon him once again.  
  
When they had told him of Gimli's kidnapping he had intended to leave the citadel that instant and search him out. Of course, they had anticipated this and made certain that he did no such thing. Now there were two armed guards shadowing him at all times, and these were no ordinary guards from whom the elf could have easily escaped. No, Faramir had posted two Rangers as his "escorts". He could devise no means for escape at the time, and so he spent the rest of the day by the fountain. He had every intention of leaving the citadel that night even if there was danger in doing so, and whether or not Faramir would allow it. The elf grimaced at the thought. It would seem that headstrong, impetuous dwarf was rubbing off on him. Legolas rose and made his way to the Meeting Hall followed at a respectful distance by the two Rangers.  
  
The Meeting Hall was a large room filled with tapestries made by the Silvan elves. The patterns were of elvish knots and the three-pronged triskelion all in the earthy colors of the forest: rich browns, dark greens, muted silvers, cool sages. In the center of the room was a large, oval table made of the oak found in the forests of Ithilien. Faramir had already taken his place at the table with Boromir to his right. On Faramir's left sat, Galwaith, the captain of the Rangers of Ithilien; a grave-looking man with long, gray hair and eyes the color of the sea on a stormy day. He spoke very little but watched every person in the room intently studying them. Legolas and Gimli had commented more than a few times on the captain's similarity to their friend, King Elessar of Gondor. On Boromir's left sat Tolmoth, the captain of his guard. There were other members of Faramir's cabinet in attendance as well. Most of them were Rangers; all of them were seasoned warriors.  
  
When all had reached their seats Faramir rose, and all became silent. "Today grave news has been delivered to us by Prince Boromir. As you are all aware Gimli, son of Gloin, has been kidnapped from the halls of Khazad- bizar. Worse yet, many dwarves and men of Ithilien lost their lives today in the skirmish. Not since the war for the ring of power have I had to inform so many of the death of a loved one. It is a dreadful duty to bear.  
  
"Boromir and his remaining men have given me a detailed account of what they witnessed in the mine. The attack was short, and only those who attempted to stop the elves were killed. With this in mind it seems clear to me what it is these elves desire. They wish to lure Prince Legolas out of the protection of Minas Mallen. To what end I cannot say. However, the letter sent from King Thranduil, the father of Legolas, seems to infer they would use Legolas in turn to provoke Thranduil.  
  
"I see by some of your faces that the rumor that elves had committed these acts was not necessarily believed by all. In truth, I would have also thought it a jest in the poorest of taste if not for the accounts from my own son. These murderers are indeed elves, though not like any elf I have ever known of. Boromir has provided Legolas with descriptions of the elves, but Legolas could say nothing of their identities based on this. Know only this: these elves have dark hair and dark eyes, and all seem to wear long black robes. All else regarding our enemy must wait until the arrival of King Thranduil.  
  
"But whoever these elves may be we will not easily be persuaded by their devices. Ithilien is not going to be bullied into giving up even one of her sons or daughters for the promise of peace. Yet, we cannot abandon Gimli. This morning as soon as I first heard the news I dispatched Danethil and with him two other Rangers to search for signs of the elves passing from Khazad-bizar. They will send word if there is any sign of the dwarf's whereabouts, but they will not be the only ones.  
  
"I have not the words to tell of the greatness of such a warrior as Master Gimli. He has proven great bravery and valor in defending all of Middle- earth. The work Master Gimli and his dwarves have done to help re-build Ithilien is an immeasurable feat. He is a strong leader and a friend to all. His absence is a great hurt to all the peoples of Ithilien, and it is insufferable to those who were close to the dwarf.  
  
"So, we must use our heads as well as our courage and steadfastness in order to hunt out his captors and return Gimli safely to Khazad-bizar. I have spoken with some of you already regarding the intentions of our enemy. We are all agreed that Gimli is being used to lure Prince Legolas out of the protection of Minas Mallen. For this reason I cannot allow him to leave the citadel, though it pains me to ask this of you. Yet I and all within my realm would suffer the more were you also to fall prey to the enemy."  
  
Legolas nodded in acquiescence though his heart was heavy. This was what he had expected.  
  
The Prince continued. "I have asked Galwaith for 50 of his Rangers. Each will lead a search party of 8 men to the far corners of Ithilien and in some cases beyond our borders. This will diminish the number of our soldiers, but Prince Legolas has offered his elven warriors to guard Minas Mallen and so help to offset the fewer numbers. All those who will be traveling into danger should know that their families are guarded and safe.  
  
"Our enemy is strong, and we know little of their ways, for they do not seem to follow the ways of the elves we have known. But they know little of us either, and that may prove to be their downfall for we are a fierce people when attacked. If they think us weak and slow in our peaceful realm then they will soon find out otherwise. And they may also find that the good peoples of Ithilien have many allies who will stand beside us and fight with us, and we will prevail." Faramir drew his sword and laid it upon the table tip facing the center. "Long Live Ithilien!!!", he shouted.  
  
The men at the table rose and placed their swords in similar fashion, and together they responded, "Long Live Ithilien! Ithilien, the fair!!!"  
  
………………………………………………………………………………………….  
  
Legolas sat cross-legged on the bed staring at the backs of the two guards standing on the balcony. His mind was feverishly devising plans for escape and just as quickly discarding them. He had to remind himself that these were Rangers, and the silent footfalls of the elven race would not be enough to elude these men. He had considered rendering them unconscious with a quick blow to the head, but even if he could have managed to accomplish this, which he doubted, he did not wish any harm to these men. And so he sat, deep in thought, unwilling to accept his confinement, and desperately searching for a way out.  
  
A knock at his door roused him. Aldaluin, the captain of his personal guard, entered the room flanked by three other elves. Aldaluin was tall even for an elf, and his gray eyes were always serious. Legolas did not remember ever seeing him smile or laugh, but his father had said that all happiness had fled from the elf when his wife had been killed during the Battle of Dagorlad. The elf's skills with a sword were unsurpassed by any being known to Legolas, and though he still found the idea of a personal guard ridiculous he slept more easily knowing Aldaluin was on the watch. "Prince Legolas, I know the hour is late, but we had hoped to speak with you of some important matters."  
  
Legolas rose from the bed. "Of course, Aldaluin, please come in." The captain entered flanked by two other elves of Legolas's guard, Firith and Lalaith. Where Aldaluin was stern and stone-faced these two elves were known for their mirth and easy-going natures. Their laughter could be heard throughout Edhil-e-londe when the elves had abided there, and they constantly traded witty insults and cutting remarks about one another's abilities in every aspect of battle and life. The male and female were constant companions, and Legolas had a suspicion that they cared for each other a bit more than either would like to let on. But any who mistook their relaxed personalities for easy prey soon found themselves staring down the shaft of an arrow or felt the cold touch of a blade held at their throat. They were a deadly pair.  
  
The fourth elf was a surprise to the prince. Serewen had entered behind the three dressed in the garb of a warrior. Luvien's long knife hung at her waist, and she wore a tunic and leggings, not her usual gown. Her husband had been a warrior, but as far as Legolas knew Serewen was skilled in weaving and needlework, not combat.  
  
All four elves bowed their heads to their prince. Legolas nodded in return, "Welcome, all." He looked upon Serewen with empathy. It had now been more than two months since her husband's murder, and though the guilty had been discovered nothing had been done to bring them to justice as of yet "It is good to see you again, Serewen."  
  
"And you, your Highness," she nodded, but their was a coldness in her eyes.  
  
"Would any of you care for some wine or other refreshments?"  
  
Before the others could respond Aldaluin said, "Yes, your Highness. Some wine would be good for us all."  
  
Legolas went to the door and asked one of the guards to have some wine brought to them. Then he turned to face his guests, "What important matters do you wish to discuss?"  
  
Aldaluin and the others had moved towards the back of the room where they appeared to be admiring a tapestry, which depicted Caras Galadon in Lothlorien. It was exquisite, and had in fact been made by Serewen herself as a gift for Prince Legolas. More importantly, Legolas reasoned, they had positioned themselves as far from the guards on the balcony as possible.  
  
Legolas fell in beside Aldaluin. The captain motioned at the wall hanging with his hand, but he did not speak of this. Instead, with a voice so low Legolas had to strain to hear, he began, "I would hazard a guess, my Lord, that you are at this very moment working a plan of escape for yourself." The prince kept his face still and betrayed nothing of his thoughts to Aldaluin. "Do not worry, we are not here to dissuade you from this. In fact, we are here to accompany you on your journey."  
  
Legolas still betrayed no emotion on his face, but he was encouraged by Aldaluin's words. The elf continued, "We have horses and provisions hidden on the forest not far from here, and we have a plan to steal away unnoticed. Even now it has begun, look to your balcony."  
  
Legolas turned slowly and saw a changing of the guard on his balcony, but this was not unusual it being midnight, the appointed time for fresh guards to take their places. He shot a questioning look at Aldaluin. "Come, let us welcome the new guard."  
  
The five elves moved to the balcony where the two Rangers stood. As they neared Aldaluin called softly, "Hail, Tolmoth. Hail, Gerath."  
  
The two Rangers turned, and Tolmoth spoke, "Hail, Prince Legolas. Hail, Aldaluin. All has been prepared, but we must not tarry. The two guards we replaced will undoubtedly question their captain about the change of guard, and then our deception will be discovered. Come." They descended the stairs, and Legolas followed knowing questions would have to wait until they could escape from the city. Tolmoth took them up and down many stairways to avoid balconies from which they might be discovered. Soon they reached the arboretum on the ground floor. It was deserted at this late hour, and Tolmoth guided them along the outer wall until they reached a large tapestry depicting the Falls of Rauros; another of Serewen's creations, Legolas noted.  
  
Tolmoth lifted the edge of the tapestry revealing a smooth wall of marble. The Ranger moved to the center of the wall and pushed with one hand. A doorway opened up revealing a long staircase leading down. Tolmoth took a torch from the side of the wall and lit it from one of the nearby braziers then returning to the hidden entrance he motioned for all to follow him. When they were all inside Gerath silently closed the hidden door behind them.  
  
The first fifty spans of the stairway were made of the blue marble, but this ended abruptly and was replaced with sheer rock. The seven of them continued down that stair for some time. Legolas had not known about the hidden doorway, but he suspected Gimli was behind its design. It occurred to him that the dwarf had likely delighted in knowing something Legolas did not, and the elf would have liked to speak to him of this, but he had no doubt that Gimli had been ordered by Faramir to discuss the secret passage with no one.  
  
After about ten minutes they reached the bottom and a tunnel ran seemingly endlessly to their right. The party started through the tunnel, and Aldaluin finally spoke. "I am sorry, my Lord, that I could not give you more detail before we left, but the plan was made in haste, and there was not enough time to impart this to you in full." Legolas nodded in understanding and Aldaluin continued. "After this evening's meeting Boromir with four of his Rangers sought me out. They advised me of what had been said at the meeting, and also of something else; Prince Faramir had appointed his son as the head of the guard for Minas Mallen. Prince Boromir refused the appointment and asked his father if he might instead lead one of the search parties for Gimli. Faramir refused.  
  
"Boromir found this plan to be insufferable, and so thinking that you might also be of like mind regarding your situation he came to me. I, of course, advised him that I was sure you would attempt to leave tonight, but I did not think you would succeed. Boromir then offered this plan. He would have two of his own guard to replace the one's at your balcony at the time of the changing of the guard. Since he had been made head of the guard here in the citadel his orders would have to be followed, but Rangers are suspicious of everything. I am certain the guards we replaced will ask questions, and soon your absence will be discovered.  
  
"This tunnel was constructed by the dwarves as a means for escape in case Minas Mallen were ever overrun by enemies. I did not know of its existence, as I am sure you did not, until only an hour ago. Only the Royal Family, the captains of their personal guard, and Gimli had knowledge of it. We have come far underground, well below the level of the moat, and we will ascend one other staircase that will bring us into the forests about two leagues east of Amon Galen. Boromir and two others of his guard await us there with the horses, food, and our weapons."  
  
Legolas was stunned. This evening he had been planning for escape, alone, and without help. He did not think he would even be able to acquire a horse or food, and now all had been prepared and he would be searching for Gimli with the aid of five trained Rangers and three elven warriors, and Serewen. Her presence still puzzled the elf-prince. "Thank you all for what you have done. I cannot thank you enough, though I fear even if we survive to find Gimli, we shall all be banished from Ithilien for disobeying Prince Faramir. Especially in placing the crown prince in harm's way."  
  
All of the company remained silent at the elf's statement, but none slowed as they made their way through the tunnel. They had made their decisions before this and accepted the consequences of what may come.  
  
Legolas moved closer to Aldaluin and whispered in his ear, "What of Serewen? Why has she come with?"  
  
At this Aldaluin looked somewhat distressed, "She came to me soon after word of Gimli's capture. She said she knew you would try and escape to help find him, and she wanted to come with. I tried to persuade her otherwise, but she would not listen." Aldaluin looked uncomfortable for a moment, "She said that I of all people would not deny her the right to seek vengeance on those who had killed Luvien. I told her that those not skilled in battle would be more of a hindrance than a help, but she claimed to be skilled in the use of weaponry. I tested her with a sword, and she is more than skilled, and so I granted her request."  
  
Legolas nodded and said no more. Perhaps Aldaluin's sympathies had played into the decision, but he would never have allowed her to come if he did not think her able to defend herself.  
  
They continued down the tunnel for the better part of an hour, and finally came to the steps Aldaluin had spoken of. These were not as long as the ones they had descended and soon they arrived at a trap door. Tolmoth knocked on the door three times, twice again, then four times, and then he slowly opened the door. The moon was new and so the forest seemed black. Tolmoth extinguished the torch and they were all plunged into darkness.  
  
"Hail, Tolmoth," Legolas heard the hearty voice of young Boromir, "How does it feel to be a fugitive?" 


	8. Thranduil's Story

A/N Again, I beg your forgiveness for the length of time this has taken me to post. This chapter was extremely difficult to write, but it is the basis for the whole idea behind my story, and so it had to be done.  
  
I will warn all of you ahead of time that this story is based very much out of the Silmarillion, and so if you have read that book the following will not be very difficult to follow I think. If you have not read the Silmarillion I have attempted to explain as much of the history as I can that is of concern to the story I have made up. If you are not familiar with the history of Middle-earth please do not get hung up on the names and places in the following chapter. All that is important is the basic plot. For those of you who are fans of Tolkien's world I hope you enjoy this. I have stayed as true to the Tolkien's world as possible. Please note that in all instances Thranduil's story is not from Tolkien, but of my own devices. Tolkien did not expand upon Thranduil's past, and so I have had a great deal of fun in making one up for him. There is one other thing. Very minor characters or facts which were not relevant to the story have been left out – for instance I am aware that the Silmarillion states that the dwarves were created first, but I do not think this was made known to the elves – the certainly don't act like it – so when Thranduil says they were the first it's just his POV. On the other hand, if I have made a glaring error please let me know. I do not want Tolkien rolling over in his grave because of me.  
  
Thanks again for all of your wonderful reviews. I assure you there will be much more of Gimli in the near future, and that my chapters should come a bit more frequently from now on. So read on, enjoy, and please R/R.  
  
  
  
Disclaimer: all characters, settings, and elvish language are strictly from the mind of J.R.R. Tolkien or inspired by him.  
  
1 Chapter VIII  
  
Thranduil's Story  
  
Prince Faramir had practically worn a path in the marble flooring of his rooms. Since he had learned of Legolas's escape, with the assistance of his own son he had not stopped his circuitous path throughout all of his quarters. His anger had not been dulled by sleeplessness or fatigue. If anything it had grown worse. Boromir was young and headstrong. Faramir knew this, and though he rarely said it aloud he was certain this behavior had been inherited from his mother. Yes, the boy was most assuredly his own master, but the Prince of Ithilien certainly had not anticipated this.  
  
And Legolas. Faramir was prepared to throttle the elf if he ever saw him alive again. How could he have allowed this to happen? Faramir was often deceived by Legolas's youthful looks into thinking of him as a young man, but he was thousands of years old. He ought to have known better. He ought to have looked out for Boromir. He ought to have looked out for his people and all the peoples of Ithilien. "Curse him!" Faramir bellowed out to no one in particular and seizing a goblet off a nearby table he hurled it across the room where it shattered against the far wall. The noise was somehow very gratifying to the prince.  
  
A young page had entered the room and was preparing food on the table from which the goblet had been acquired, but seeing the king's mood he made a rather hasty departure. It was unlike Faramir to let his emotions get the best of him like this, and his staff was understandably unnerved by it. Before Faramir's outburst the boy had set upon the table a loaf of bread, a large hunk of yellow cheese, and some apples, accompanied by a bottle of wine. Faramir considered them for a moment, but just as quickly dismissed them and continued his pacing. From one of the other rooms he heard a door open and soon after the sound of footsteps. He knew without turning around that it was his wife, Eowyn.  
  
She walked purposefully into the midst of his path, blocking his way. Faramir moved to walk around her, but she shadowed him and would not let him pass. "Eowyn, please, I am in no mood to talk."  
  
Stubbornly she folded her arms in front of her, "So, what are you in the mood for? Walking? That will do no one any good."  
  
Faramir sighed and looked into her beautiful blue eyes. They were full of love despite the tone of her voice. "No, but I am angry, and in this state I am not much good for talking."  
  
Eowyn's voice softened, "So allow me to do the talking." She took his arm and led him back to the table bearing the food. She poured him some wine and pushed the bread and cheese in front of him. "Please eat something, my love. Anger feeds on an empty stomach." Faramir looked again at her, but he could not deny her logic, and so he pulled off some bread and began to eat.  
  
"Now, I know you are angry. I am angry as well. But I have tried to understand why Boromir would defy you, and I believe we have sorely miscalculated our son. I, more than any other, should have understood his heart better, for his heart is that of a warrior. Can we then deny his heart that which he so greatly desires? My father asked the same of me, and it was more than I could bear. He is a Dunadan, not only in title, but in his spirit as well.  
  
"Now he is still young but also a man. He wishes to prove himself, and when war comes to his own country what glorious post does his own father grant him? To lead the guards of Minas Mallen where he will more than likely never encounter a single foe."  
  
Faramir opened his mouth to speak, but Eowyn raised her hand to stop him, "Please, my Lord, let me finish." Faramir acquiesced and Eowyn continued, "I am aware of why you chose as you did, but I do not think Boromir has thought that far. In his mind your orders indicate you do not trust him to go into battle or that you think he will falter. His pride, I believe, has gotten the better of him."  
  
Faramir immediately rose from his seat and began to pace back and forth next to the table. "But to leave here in the middle of the night and with only a small guard. And he must know he is heading into a trap. All for pride's sake?! He is the crown prince of Ithilien. His responsibilities to our people must always come first, and yet he has forsaken them and us," Faramir looked pointedly at his wife, "all to prove he is a man? To soothe his wounded pride? When I am through with him he will want to soothe more than his pride!"  
  
Eowyn had risen and come to stand in front of Faramir. He stopped his pacing and looked at her. She raised her right hand and placed it on his chest above his heart. "Peace, my love." Her touch immediately cooled the raging fire within him. His eyes softened and he placed both of his hands over her smaller one resting on his heart. Seeing that he was calmer Eowyn spoke, "Your anger is only a bandage for your fear. It is a heavy burden to bear to wait while one that you love faces unknown dangers."  
  
Small tears formed at the corners of the princess's eyes, and Boromir pulled her close to him. "Your words have hit the mark, my beloved. I do not want to think of what may befall our son. I do not think I could bear it if he . . ." but Faramir could not continue. Eowyn held him all the more close and they stood there for some time sharing what comfort they could give to one another.  
  
How long they stood like this Faramir did not know, but the clear tones of trumpets split the air breaking the spell that hung over the Prince and Princess of Ithilien. Eowyn looked to Faramir, "We must make ready, my husband. A king comes to Amon Galen."  
  
…………………………………………………………………………………….  
  
The room was small but comfortable. Many braziers were lit to fill the room with soft light, and the scent of evergreen wafted through the air from the incense bowls above them. A large oak table sat in the middle of the room laden with every food available at that time of the year. The plates the food was served on had been crafted from gold by dwarven hands, and the finest elven glassblowers had made the glasses. Normally it served as an informal greeting room where Prince Faramir could receive friends, but today it was the gathering place of royalty.  
  
King Eomer had ridden into Amon Galen early that afternoon accompanied by four hundred of his Rohirrim. And at sunset King Elessar accompanied by King Thranduil also arrived in the capital city of Ithilien with a large contingent of Dunedain and Elves from Eryn Lasgalen. All were eager for news and so after briefly retiring to their rooms all three had come to Prince Faramir's quarters for the evening meal and information.  
  
Etiquette dictated that Faramir allow Elessar to lead the discussion as he was the King over all of Gondor including Ithilien. Elessar looked upon the faces of the three men at his table. Faramir looked haggard and worn, the events of the last month taking their toll on his normally relaxed features. Eomer was a different story. Though he was, in truth, not much younger than Faramir, he wore the smooth and unmarred face of youth. He looked eager, whereas the others looked unnerved. But it was Thranduil's countenance that drew his attention most.  
  
It had been many years since he had visited with the King of Eryn Lasgalen. He bore the beautiful face of all elves, but there was ever a knowing look in the pools of his eyes as if they knew the fate of the world and all within it. It was the same look he saw in the eyes of Elrond, Galadriel, and Cirdan. His long blonde hair was pulled back away from his face, and he wore a small circlet in the shape of oak leaves around his head. Elessar had often thought how much Legolas resembled his father, but now the Elven King's features were drawn and tight over his face. His eyes beheld not the fates of all men, but only his own fate – of suffering and loss.  
  
The King of Gondor knew that whatever revelations Thranduil had for them they lay bitterly upon him, and would not easily be told. Still, time was of the greater importance and so he stood, "I greet all of you with warm welcome to the land of Gondor. Would that our meeting were under better circumstances, but I will dispense with the other formalities so that we may learn more of our enemy as soon as possible and so go to find Legolas and Gimli and bring them safely home.  
  
"It seems that the knowledge of our enemy resides within our friend Thranduil, King of Eryn Lasgalen, and so I will now defer to him that he might tell his story." Elessar sat and Thranduil rose, grim in the flickering firelight.  
  
"My story begins a very long time ago in the Eldar Days, or what you know as the First Age. How long ago I cannot say, for much of the time was spent under the stars before the coming of the sun and moon, and so we did not count time then as you do now. But still, I am of the eldest of my race. I was one of the elves who awoke under the stars at Lake Cuivienen, before men and dwarves walked in Arda.  
  
"In those days Middle-earth was new, and its beauty held us spellbound. Many of us would wander far throughout Beleriand delighting in the green things of the earth. The smell of a new variety of flower or a new shade of orange on the trees in autumn – these were the things we loved. There was an endless supply of new discoveries and countless ages with which to explore them.  
  
"But though we were happy in those days, we were not without discord. Morgoth, who we then knew as Melkor, captured many elves and used them to breed the foul orcs. Morgoth set the orcs and his vicious wargs upon the elves of Beleriand, and we lived in great fear of them for we did not know the ways of war. But the Valar took pity on us and coming to Middle-earth they waged war on Morgoth and his minions. Victorious they imprisoned Morgoth within their own land of Valinor across the sea, and so, for a time, we lived in peace.  
  
Eomer had noted that Elessar and Faramir nodded in understanding, but he was not learned in the history of the elves, "I am sorry, King Thranduil, but if you would. Who are the Valar? And who is Morgoth?"  
  
Thranduil smiled sullenly, "Forgive me, King Eomer, for I have lived so long that I do not always take into account the length of my history and how it may have fallen into disuse. The Valar are the servants of the one god, Illuvatar. They helped in the divine creation of all that was, and they dwell in Valinor, in the Undying Lands where elves go to when they die.  
  
"Morgoth was one of the Valar, but he became jealous of Illuvatar's love for the elves and so sought to make as much misery and strife for them as he could. He has since been locked away from all of Middle-earth and the Undying Lands, but it was his loyal servant, Sauron, whom elves and men have fought in the last ages."  
  
Eomer nodded in understanding and Thranduil continued, "But there was one among the Valar who loved the elves most dearly. Orome was his name, and it was he that put the longing into our hearts to travel west across the sea in search of Valinor. So strong was his love for the firstborn, " Thranduil hesitated, noting the questioning look in Eomer's eye, "which is another name for the elves, that he brought four of our leaders to Valinor so that they might see its beauty for themselves. These four returned to Middle-earth intent on guiding the rest of the elves on that long journey.  
  
"But there were some of us who loved Middle-earth overmuch, and tarried long in the journey across Beleriand. In the end there were those who decided to remain. The Nandor we were called, or "those who turn back" in your language. Our leader was Lenwe and we made him our king. Long we remained with him in the Vales of the River Anduin in Beleriand. But the wanderlust was ever upon some of us including the king's son, Denethor, and myself. And so Denethor made his desire known to the Nandor, and those of like mind followed him into the land of Eriador.  
  
"Denethor was a great friend to me, and I was ever at his side. Some of our group left to wander on their own, but I and many others followed Denethor and named him our king. Long we wandered in the wild lands of Eriador, and ever the orcs and wolves of Morgoth harried us. Many of our number were slain by these foul creatures, and yet we continued to follow Denethor. We did not know that Morgoth had returned to Middle-earth, and his hatred of the elves had grown during his long captivity. The evil creatures increased, and our lives, which had been difficult, became impossible. Denethor confided in me that he feared for the safety of his people. I too had grown concerned, and I advised him to cross the Blue Mountains into Beleriand and search out Elwe Singollo the great king.  
  
"And so we returned to Beleriand and soon found Elwe. He had remained in Beleriand and established his own kingdom of Doriath. He was now known as Elu Thingol and he met gladly with Denethor for we were the kin of the elves of Doriath. When King Thingol learned of our love for the forests and of living things he gave unto Denethor the land called Ossiriand for his own kingdom. Of all the places we had wandered none was more beautiful to us than Ossiriand with its verdant forests and long, meandering rivers. Within this land the wanderlust was gone from our hearts and here we made our homes.  
  
"We were called the Laiquendi, or the Green Elves, for we clad ourselves in that color so that we might blend in with the surrounding wood. So adept at this were we that even our own kind could not discover us if we wished to remain hidden. So also were our homes hidden among the trees, and not even keen elven eyes could discern them from the forest floor. A hard lesson we had learned in Eriador, and we chose stealth as a safeguard against the minions of Morgoth.  
  
"I have never known such happiness as I felt in Ossiriand. Here did I wed my beautiful Elessea, and also were my sons Sule and Aldan born and my only daughter, Ailin. But although the time I spent there in peace was many of your lifetimes it seemed but the time of a single breath to me. Too soon was my happiness ended, and much sorrow was to come after.  
  
"As I have said we suffered greatly at the hands of the orcs and wolves of Morgoth, and in some of the Laiquendi there remained a great fear. Though we hid in our forest as a protective measure, some of my people hid only out of that fear. King Thingol had provided us with weaponry and some of his elves schooled us in their use, but few of the Laiquendi participated. We desired only peace, and thought our hidden realm would protect us from war. We were wrong.  
  
"Morgoth had not been idle in his stronghold at Angband, and in his wickedness he sought to take the elves unawares in a surprise attack. Hordes of orcs and wolves poured into Beleriand, and Thingol sent word to Denethor asking for his help. We were unprepared for battle, but there was great love for Thingol amongst us, and so we prepared for war. But those who most feared Morgoth and his armies protested. They wished to remain behind in the protection of our forest. The most outspoken of these was Morgil.  
  
"Morgil had been a proud elf in the days we followed Denethor into Eriador, and as I knew him in those times he was good and whole. Until one day when we were attacked by orcs. Morgil and his wife, Brethilie, were separated from the rest of us. This we did not know until the cries of his wife turned our eyes. Some of the orcs had taken her and forced themselves upon her. Brethilie cried out for Morgil, but whether in great fear or shock he stood rooted to the ground, not moving. Denethor fought his way to her and quickly put her attackers to death. Brethilie survived, but Morgil could not forgive himself. Soon afterwards Brethilie, discovering she was with child, threw herself into the rushing waters of the River Gelion and was never seen in this land again. Morgil was different thereafter. Though I kept my thoughts to myself alone I detected relief in Morgil after Brethilie's suicide, and thereafter he became cowardly and close. And none , save his children, would suffer his company for long.  
  
"But a fire was burning in my heart, for I loved all of Middle-earth and hated Morgoth for laying so much of it waste, and so I decried the cowardice of Morgil and his followers in front of all of my people. Much wrath was in my words and those who wished to remain behind felt great shame. In the end all followed Denethor into battle, but not all followed with pure heart.  
  
"We went to war against the orc armies, but the battle was fierce. Upon the hill of Amon Ereb we made our final stand. I fought at Denethor's side, and though we were few compared to the armies of Morgoth there were many bodies of orcs around us. The battle raged on and we fought only with the hope that King Thingol would arrive with his armies soon to aid us. Looking out across the battlefield for sign of the King of Doriath I spied my son, Sule, standing surrounded by the enemy. With no thought for anyone else I fought my way toward him. All else had become unimportant to me and I cut my way through the masses of orcs unaware of the battle around me. But I came too late. The enemy was too great and my son was overwhelmed. Fear and anger enveloped me and I remember not how I came to the place where he fell. Orc feet had trampled his body, and that beautiful face was no longer recognizable.  
  
"Grief-stricken I began slaying any orc who came near to me. So powerful was my wrath that orcs fled from me. I know not how long I remained like this, but I remember only becoming aware that my friend and King, Denethor, was fighting alone upon Amon Ereb. The orc bodies lay in heaps at his feet, but standing alone he would soon be taken. I had left his side so that I might save the life of my son, but I had failed there. And now, I had deserted my friend and King and could see his imminent doom.  
  
"I moved hastily towards him, and as I made my way trumpets sounded in the distance marking the arrival of the army of King Thingol. But I did not turn to look, I ran forward heedless of the blades of my enemy and so I came to the summit of Amon Ereb. Denethor lay upon the bloodied earth still gripping the haft of his sword. The arrival of Thingol had surprised the orcs and most were now running away in fear and confusion. I laid waste to the few who remained and then knelt at my friend's side. With his dying words he begged me to lead the Green Elves of Ossiriand out of danger, and I pledged that I would.  
  
"Many of the Laiquendi were slain in that battle, but this was not my only sorrow. My son Aldan yet lived, but he bore grave tidings to me. He had fought the battle high up on the side of Amon Ereb, and from there he had good vantage of his brother. Sule had led Morgil and his children into battle. Aldan watched as the orcs came upon them, and Sule and his elves stood their ground against them, but Morgil and his progeny retreated reducing their numbers and soon Sule alone stood against the onslaught. Sule called to them for help, but as he had done long before Morgil did not aid him, and instead he and his family fled from the battlefield.  
  
"Wroth was I to hear such news, and I greatly desired to seek revenge on Morgil and his kin. But I had promised to protect the Laiquendi, and I could not do so if I were to seek out Morgil. I was torn between these two choices, but Aldan bade me to stay with our people. He would seek out Morgil and bring him to me for judgment. My heart yet raged at the death of Sule, and so I let him go.  
  
"Many of the Laiquendi were slain in this battle, thereafter known as the First War of Beleriand, and Thingol seeing the decimation of the Green Elves was greatly concerned. Thus, he gave leave for all to come to his kingdom of Doriath where we would be welcomed as family. Long I considered Thingol's invitation, for I greatly loved the forests of Ossiriand and would not easily part with that land. But my promise to Denethor was most important in my mind, and feeling there would be greater safety in numbers I counseled all of my people to follow me into Doriath with the hope that someday our enemy might be defeated and we could return home.  
  
"But my people had witnessed the loss of more than two-thirds our original number, and no elf that I knew of had ever been forced to bear witness to such great death and suffering. Heavy were the hearts of the Laiquendi. Therefore, some returned to Ossiriand and never again came forth to fight against Morgoth and his legions, among these was my daughter, Ailin. Denethor's death had been hard upon the Laiquendi, so that they never again chose another king while they dwelt in Ossiriand. The rest of my people followed me, and so came unto Doriath, realm of King Elu Thingol.  
  
"The First War of Beleriand weighed heavily upon Thingol, and Melian, his wife, who possessed great powers encircled all of their kingdom in the Girdle of Melian which allowed no one to enter except by her leave. Thus, by her powers was Doriath hidden from Morgoth and the elves lived in peace for a long time there. But little peace did I find while I dwelt in Doriath.  
  
"While I and those that followed me came unto Doriath, Aldan and those who went with him were yet following Morgil's trail. They followed him into the great forest of Taur-im-Duinath far to the south of Doriath. When they found Morgil Aldan demanded he and his children return with him to Doriath. Morgil refused, and angry words were exchanged. Aldan accused Morgil of murdering Sule, and the sons of Morgil were brought to great anger and raised their weapons against Aldan and his company. They fought, but Morgil's eldest son fell at the hand of Aldan, then all of the children of Morgil came upon them, and they were all slain except one.  
  
"Morgil bade the survivor return to Doriath with these words for me; that should any of the Laiquendi come to Taur-im-Duinath or seek out Morgil and his family then they should suffer the same fate as my son. And since this one man could not carry all the bodies of Aldan and his men, Morgil removed there heads and gouged out their eyes so that these might be brought as evidence of their deaths. He told the messenger if I asked why their eyes had been removed to say that since he had fallen into darkness he wished for Thranduil and all his progeny to be as him; to see no light, but to dwell forever in shadow. And this one elf did return to Doriath with his horrible burden, and being brought before me he delivered Morgil's message and told me of the fate of Aldan. Then he fell before my feet and woke never again in this land.  
  
"A cold rage arose in me such as I had never experienced. Never in my knowledge had elf brought arms against elf, for I did not yet know of the Kinslaying at Alqualonde committed by the Noldor." Thranduil again caught sight of Eomer's confused expression and said, "I shall tell more of the Noldor and the Kinslaying in time." Eomer nodded again in thanks but he looked slightly irritated that he appeared to be the only one ignorant of the names and places Thranduil spoke of. The King of the Wood-elves continued, "I decided that my people were safe, and I had fulfilled my promise to Denethor. But in truth the promise mattered little, and I would have broken it if necessary. Thingol advised me to remain and he would send some of his own to retrieve Morgil, but I would not listen. Revenge was in my heart, and I could not be stayed.  
  
"I came to the forest of Taur-im-Duinath with 20 of my own men, some of whom had also lost their sons at the hands of Morgil and his kin. We found our prey, and such hatred was within me that I showed no mercy. I and those with me slew all that we found, but alas, Morgil and his daughter Morwen, escaped. Long I searched for them in the forest, but Taur-im- Duinath is great and within it two elves of the Laiquendi could remain hidden from my searching eyes indefinitely. And so time put out the fire within my belly even if the pain of my loss was and still is ever present, and I returned to Doriath."  
  
"The loss of my sons was great hurt to myself and Elessea, but within the peace of Doriath we were able to heal. In time Elessea bore me another son. Haldim was his name, and he was the fairest of all my sons until the birth of Legolas. Though Doriath was unaffected by the battles the Noldor fought against Morgoth, Haldim became skilled in weaponry and the ways of war. There were none within Doriath who could best him, and yet he was gentle and kind. I loved him most dearly as did all within Thingol's kingdom.  
  
"But not all within Middle-earth was peaceful, for I now come to the story of the Noldor. In short the Noldor were elves who had taken the Great Journey and followed Finwe from Middle-earth, across the sea to Valinor. The elves of Ossiriand and Doriath were of the Sindar, or the Grey Elves, who had never completed the Great Journey and so have never laid eyes upon Valinor.  
  
"The Noldor lived for a long time in Valinor, and a son was born to their Finwe their leader. Feanor was his name, and he was the greatest elf of the Noldorin. It was he who crafted the beautiful jewels called the Silmarilli that shone with the most beautiful light of all creation, but it was these jewels which would lead to his downfall and the downfall of his people.  
  
"As I have related at the beginning of my tale, the evil Morgoth had been imprisoned by the Valar within the Undying Lands. But after sometime the Valar took pity on him and thinking he had repented of his earlier deeds he was allowed to walk freely in Valinor. Morgoth was not repentant, though, and he used his new freedom for further evil.  
  
"He deceived Feanor and turned his mind against the Valar, thus distracting him. So while Feanor was unaware Morgoth came to the house of Finwe, Feanor's father, and slew him. There he stole the beautiful Silmarilli. And before this was known Morgoth had left Valinor and once again returned to Middle-earth.  
  
"Great was Feanor's anger, and he wished to travel to Middle-earth to seek vengeance, yet the Valar forbade him to leave Valinor. But Feanor could not be deterred, and so swearing an oath to seek revenge for his father's murder and to recover the stolen Silmarilli he defied the Valar. The Noldor went with him, but they required ships for passage across the sea. The Teleri elves were great builders of ships, and so Feanor asked them for their aid. Not wishing to defy the Valar the Teleri denied Feanor and his people the use of their ships. And so the Noldor made war upon the Teleri, and it was not Morgil, but Feanor who first slew another elf.  
  
"Feanor did eventually come to Middle-earth where he also met his death. But the seven sons of Feanor swore to take upon themselves his oath against Morgoth. When Thingol learned of the Noldor's attack upon his own people he forbid the son's of Feanor to enter his realm of Doriath and he did not aid them in their struggles against Morgoth. Caranthir, who was most like his father in temperament, took great affront at Thingol's words and deeds and ever was there coldness between the two.  
  
"Upon a time word of this discord reached the ears of Morgil, and thinking that he could use Caranthir's dislike to his advantage he and Morwen traveled far to the north and came unto Thargelion where Caranthir ruled. At the same time Caranthir had made some contact with the dwarves who lived in the Ered Luin, or Blue Mountains, which Thargelion bordered on. Caranthir found the dwarves and their culture distasteful and made no attempt to hide this from them. Morgil suggested that he might play diplomat to the dwarves for Caranthir, and so came into his service. Morgil established trade between the dwarves and Caranthir's elves and soon Morgil had won great favor with Caranthir when riches from the Ered Luin flowed into Thargelion.  
  
"In all this time I was unaware of Morgil's activities for he went by another name, and did not speak with the elves of Doriath or Ossiriand. So after some many years Morgil's whereabouts concerned me little, and my life moved forward and I was happy for a time. But Morgil had not forgotten me, and while he dwelt in Thargelion his words ever poisoned the minds of Caranthir and the dwarves. In Caranthir's ear he whispered of Thingol and the Teleri who dwelt in peace within the forests of Doriath while the sons of Feanor and the Noldor were slain upon the battlefield protecting Middle- earth from Morgoth. And in the ears of the greedy dwarves he whispered of riches untold within Menegroth."  
  
"Was not Menegroth built by the dwarves?" asked Faramir.  
  
"Yes, and the caves of Menegroth were the most beautiful in all of Middle- earth," answered Thranduil, "but when Morgoth's orcs brought war to the North the dwarves hid within their mountain halls and did not come forth into Beleriand. Nor could they have entered Doriath without Melian's permission. Morgil kindled resentment in their hearts that they should be unable to come to the halls that they and their sires labored to build.  
  
"Hundreds of years passed and the Noldor continued to battle Morgoth, but Doriath remained ever peaceful. Luthien Tinuviel was born to Thingol and Melian, and she was more beautiful than any that has ever lived. Yet, as many of you well know she fell in love with Beren, a mortal man. Thingol did not wish them to wed, and so he promised Beren the hand of Luthien if he would only bring to him one of the Silmarilli which Morgoth had stolen from the Noldor."  
  
Eomer sat up, "Would this not have angered the Noldor, who swore a blood oath to retrieve all the Silmarilli?"  
  
"Indeed it did anger them very much, even more so when Beren performed the task and brought one of the Silmarilli to Thingol. The sons of Feanor sent letters to Menegroth demanding Thingol give up the Silmaril to them, but Thingol would not listen. The great beauty of the Silmaril clouded his mind and his lust for it consumed him.  
  
"The Noldor had little time to dwell on Thingol and the Silmaril for they soon fought the fifth and final battle of the Wars of Beleriand. In that battle much of the Noldor were slain, and all of the northern realms of the sons of Feanor were overrun. But Morgil and Morwen yet survived, as did Caranthir and many of the dwarves of the Ered Luin.  
  
"When Thingol had retained the Silmaril he bade the dwarves from Ered Luin come to Menegroth to set the stone in the Nauglamir."  
  
Eomer again interrupted, "I am sorry, King Thranduil, but I am not as versed in ancient elven lore as Elessar and Faramir. What is the Nauglamir?"  
  
"The Nauglamir was a necklace crafted by the dwarves and given to the Elven King Finrod Felagund. It was said that the necklace bore jewels carried from Valinor and that it made beautiful any who would wear it. When Finrod was slain the necklace came to Thingol.  
  
"Morgil realized that this was the time in which he must act. He counseled the dwarves to take the necklace, telling them it was theirs by right since they had crafted it long ago. And so the dwarves full of Morgil's poisoned words came in great numbers to Menegroth where they did indeed set the Silmaril in the Nauglamir. But when there work was finished they would not leave the jewel behind, and instead made to take the necklace with them to the Ered Luin.  
  
"Thingol's wrath was great, but the beauty of the Silmaril had blinded him to all else, and too late did he see his folly. Hundreds of the dwarves dwelt within Menegroth and when Thingol made to take the Nauglamir by force they took up their axes and waged a battle within the halls of Menegroth.  
  
"Long did I fight in that battle, and I made my way into the smithies where Thingol had been ere the fighting broke out. There I found him lying upon the ground, bloodied and hewn, and there did Elu Thingol, King of the Sindarin Elves of Beleriand, depart from Middle-earth forever. Much did I grieve the death of Thingol, but my sorrows had only begun.  
  
"A great fury came over me, and I gathered the host of Thingol and followed the trail of the fell dwarves. So great was our wrath that we quickly overtook them and killed all but two of their company. The Nauglamir was found and I returned it to Melian who found no joy in it but bade me return to Ossiriand where dwelt her daughter Luthien with Beren and bring them tidings of Thingol's downfall. Afterward she also departed from Middle- earth and was never seen here again.  
  
"I did return to Ossiriand and my heart was glad to see the forests again, but loath was I to bring the tidings to Luthien and Beren. But even as I sat in Ossiriand with the daughter of Thingol and shared in her grief word came to us that the dwarves had again sacked Menegroth, for when Melian had departed so had her protection of the realm. Having again stolen the Nauglamir set with the single Silmaril they were even now returning to their homes in the Ered Luin.  
  
"A great anger was aroused in Beren and I followed him to battle the murderous dwarves and recover the stolen jewel. The elves of Ossiriand had not been to war in hundreds of years but that did not diminish their fierceness. In the end we were victorious. All the dwarves were slain and Beren returned to Ossiriand with the Nauglamir, which he set upon the breast of Luthien.  
  
"However, Morgil had not been idle. Seeing the downfall of the dwarves at the hands of the Laiquendi he saw a dreadful opportunity. Ailin, my own daughter, had risen to fight with the Green Elves, and in the confusion of battle Morwen took her and brought her to Morgil where he slew her and removed her eyes, just as he did to Sule and Aldan. When her body was found I knew who it was who had committed the murder, and whose devices had led to the downfall of Thingol and Doriath.  
  
"My burden was too much to bear. I had failed my daughter in thinking the threat of Morgil had gone away, and now she lay dead and mutilated upon the earth. We buried her even where she fell, but I would not tarry long in Ossiriand for fear grew in my heart for Elessea, my wife, and our son and only remaining child, Haldim. Luthien and Beren would not leave the land of the Green Elves, but their son and his family returned with me to Menegroth to lead the kingdom of Doriath.  
  
"Again for some short time there was peace in Doriath, though Elessea could not bear the suffering in her heart and returned to Ossiriand to dwell. I now followed Dior as King of Doriath, for I had much love for Thingol, his grandfather, and yearned to re-build Doriath. However, this was not to be. One day an elf out of Ossiriand came to Dior bearing the Nauglamir for his mother and father had gone to their rest. Dior took the necklace and placed it around his neck, and as before with the stone came the downfall of Doriath, never to arise again.  
  
"Word soon reached the sons of Feanor that the Silmaril had returned to Doriath. None of the elves would have attacked Luthien, the most fair and beautiful of their kind, while she wore the Nauglamir, but now that it had come to King Dior the seven brothers sent another letter demanding the return of the stone. As his father before him Dior did not answer their requests, and Morgil seizing yet another opportunity gave counsel to Caranthir urging him to attack the now unprotected land of Doriath.  
  
"And so for the second time the Noldor bore arms against their brethren. The battle in Menegroth was great and I fought alongside Haldim, but in the end Dior was slain, and his sons were lost. Even some of Feanor's sons met their death in those caves. All around us were slain, but Haldim and I were spared. Morgil had given orders that we were not to be slain, but brought to him instead. I stood before my enemy of old bound at the wrists, helpless. I knew that my son's death and my death were at hand. Yet he did not bring death swiftly. Instead he related to me all the parts of his story that I have here given so that I would know the depths of his hatred. And then he raised his sword and beheaded my only living child and gouged out his eyes. And though I pleaded with him for death he would not give it to me, but instead condemned me to remain in Middle-earth childless or to bring death to myself.  
  
"And yet he said that he still had one other to murder, my Elessea. Now there was a rage unlike any I have ever felt within me, and I broke the bonds about my wrists. I was upon Morgil before he could react. A blind rage overcame me, and when all was finished Morgil's body lay formless and bloodied upon the floor.  
  
"I had no time to bury the body of Haldim, and so I was forced to set him upon one of the braziers of fire which lit the halls and there the fires would turn his body to ash. But I could not tarry for the enemy was all about me. A small remnant of the elves of Doriath was fleeing before the remaining sons of Feanor led by Dior's daughter, Elwing. I followed them south for some time. As we traveled I learned that Elwing had borne the Silmaril out of Doriath. I would no longer share in that fate of that accursed stone, and so I turned from their company and came once again into Ossiriand.  
  
"The news I bore to Elessea was more than she could bear, and I thought that she too would leave Middle-earth to search for her sons and daughter in Valinor. But the beauty of Ossiriand succored her, and she and I dwelt together in that blessed land for many more years. But no child did she bear me until after my kingdom was built in Eryn Lasgalen, after the downfall of Sauron when Isildur took the ring. Then was Legolas born to us, and he is last of the children of Elessea. In Legolas's birth were the memories of children long gone stirred within her. Even as she first held him in her arms and looked upon his face she died, and she awaits me with Sule, Aldan, Ailin, and Haldim in Valinor. But I will not leave while Legolas yet remains."  
  
All who sat there were silent, for what could they say. Thranduil's long life had been full of loss and pain, and he had come far from his kingdom to protect the only thing which kept him in Middle-earth. The only thing which kept him from returning to Valinor to be re-united with all he had lost – his son. Yet Legolas was gone, and none knew where. Thranduil, of the eldest of his kind was again too late to help save his son. 


	9. Minas Morgul

A/N I just wanted to thank all of you again for the wonderful reviews. After the last chapter I was feeling a bit burnt out, but all your kind words really got me going again. And so without further adieu – Chapter IX.  
  
Disclaimer: all characters, settings, and elvish language are strictly from the mind of J.R.R. Tolkien or inspired by him.  
  
1 Chapter IX  
  
2 Minas Morgul  
  
Gimli, son of Gloin, sat cross-legged on the stone floor staring fixedly at the elf in front of him. The elf stared back and did not blink. The dwarf was not certain if the elf was sleeping or was stubbornly refusing to lower his gaze. Whichever the case, it did not matter. Gimli would not be the first to break the stare. His eyes had stopped their watering some time ago, and Gimli wondered if they were not now permanently glued open.  
  
He had been in this room for two days now. There was no open window, but years of living in underground caverns had given the dwarves a sense of time even without the aid of the sun. Outside the sun had just set into the west and the world was falling into darkness. Inside there was little improvement. The only light afforded him was a small torch set high up on the wall. With nothing decorating any of the walls there were no footholds with which to climb up and retrieve it. The only furnishing was a single chair, and even that was not high enough to bring the torch within the dwarf's reach.  
  
They had brought him water, but nothing else since they arrived. The dwarf's stomach continuously grumbled in irritation at the lack of sustenance. Of course, why provide him with food if they had every intention of killing him once they caught the elf-prince.  
  
Legolas. The dwarf had wondered at how his friend would react to the news of his abduction. Gimli was reasonably sure that the elf would try to find him, but the dwarf hoped that Faramir had sense enough to lock him up in the dungeons below Minas Mallen with several armed Rangers as his guard. That damn fool elf would probably walk right into this trap without anyone to make him see reason. Gimli often speculated as to how Legolas had managed to survive all his long years without his aid. Still, it was lucky for the elf that Gimli, son of Gloin, had come along just when things started getting hairy with the fellowship and the quest and the battles.  
  
Gimli had often questioned Legolas about his doings in Mirkwood before they met up, but the elf was not very forthcoming about his life in his father's kingdom. Actually he was not very forthcoming about anything. As near as he could tell the wood elves spent their days hunting the occasional orc band that happened into their neck of the woods, throwing parties, singing silly elf songs about Elbereth and Luthien and Beren, and imprisoning innocent dwarves who were minding their own business and just trying to get through their awful forest. Sometimes Gimli felt like he was back in the mines digging, and for all his hard labor he found only the occasional gem or small nugget of ore. Blast all elves and their annoying mysterious ways!  
  
The elf blinked suddenly and sat up straighter in his chair. So he had been asleep. No matter, thought the dwarf, escape would have been impossible. The slightest movement by him would have roused the elf into wakefulness. Still, it meant the elf had been sleeping on the job. "Did you have a nice nap?" asked the dwarf in an insulting tone. "Have no fear, I was awake the entire time."  
  
The elf sneered down at him, "There is nothing here for me to fear. It is you who should be afraid."  
  
"Ha!" the dwarf stood and moved forward. The elf immediately drew his long knife, but Gimli purposefully walked forward to stand directly in front of him, "I am not stupid, dark elf. I am the bait to bring Legolas. You cannot afford to kill me, but you are stupid if you think Legolas will simply walk into this trap."  
  
The elf moved the blade until the point was nearly resting on Gimli's left eyeball, "All Thranduil's son knows is that you have been captured by us. He has already left Amon Galen in search of you. All we have to do is wait for him, but you are of no more use to us."  
  
Gimli did not flinch nor back away but instead stared into the elf's dark eyes with all the courage he could muster, "I do not claim to know how or why, but Legolas would know if I were to fall. He would sense it, and he would then have no reason to come here. You know this, or else you would have killed me before now. I may be your prisoner, but it is not time for me to die just yet. So why don't you put away your blade, we both know you cannot use it."  
  
The elf rose to his full height, but the blade did not waver. Gimli stood his ground. Finally the elf put the blade away, but before Gimli could react the elf backhanded him. The dwarf stumbled but did not fall, and yet he was unable to gather himself to ward off the next blow. The elf grabbed him by the arms and flung him headfirst into the stone wall of the cell. His head hit with a resounding thud, and Gimli's ears rang. He crumpled to the floor, but the elf dragged his limp body away from the wall. Straddling him the elf pinned the dwarf's arms down then pulled out his blade again. Taking the whole of Gimli's thick beard in his hand the elf began to saw away at it. Gimli struggled against him, but his head had become groggy, and the elf was strong despite his wiry frame. Within moments the sharp blade had removed the majority of Gimli's facial hair.  
  
Holding what he had removed of Gimli's beard high above the dwarf's head the elf stared down at him with a coldness in his eyes, "Elven blades are sharp, but thick dwarf beards might slow the blade." He slowly opened his hand, and the strands of what had been Gimli's beard fell in clumps on the dwarf's face, "I would not want this to get in the way when I come to slit your throat."  
  
Wiping his hands of the last hairs the elf stood, "The sight of your face has sickened me. I must go to find rest where dwarven ugliness does not taint my eyesight." The elf turned and left the room, barring the door shut from the other side.  
  
With a groan Gimli rolled over and sat up. His eyesight was bleary, and he felt nausea creeping up. Wiping the remaining hairs away from his face he put a hand to his chin. One or two inches of wiry hairs was all that remained of his once thick, luxurious beard.  
  
……………………………………………………………………………………  
  
Legolas peered out from behind a large oak tree to stare at the four roads that came together in front of him. In the middle of the crossroads was a large statue of Elendil sitting on his throne. His hands rested on the arms of his seat, and his eyes stared westward into the heart of Gondor. Set in a large ring surrounding the crossroads itself were large oak trees; taller than the statue they encircled. Besides that there was nothing else to be seen, and the elf-prince did not sense any immediate danger. There was evil. He could sense it, but it was hidden or far away. He stepped out from behind the tree and approached the figure of Elendil.  
  
  
  
He had come to this place many times since the War of the Ring, but now with the westering sun he was reminded of the Ringbearer's story. Frodo had stood here and watched the setting sun cast its last rays on the statue and it's head, which had been removed by the orcs and left on the roadside. The elves of Edhil-e-londe, with the help of the men of Ithilien, had repaired the damage caused by the orcs and restored the statue to its former glory, but Legolas did not see this. Instead, he was picturing the severed head lying on the ground and it occurred to him that this might be his own fate.  
  
Shaking the dark thought from his mind he stepped out from behind the oak and raised one arm high into the air. This was the sign for Tolmoth to begin searching the roads for evidence of any recent travelers. The Dunadan moved from behind another of the oaks and began to walk the edges of the four roads. His keen eyes searched the dust in the roads for prints. After he had walked the length of each road he began moving in a great circle that came closer and closer to the statue of Elendil with each passing. When he had arrived at the foot of the ancient king of Gondor he raised his hand as Legolas had done, and the others of their company emerged from the surrounding trees and met him in the center of the crossroads.  
  
Tolmoth spoke first. "There was a large host of horses that passed this way four days ago. The horses were unshod in the manner of the elves. They came from the south and turned east towards Minas Morgul. They have made no attempt to disguise their tracks," the Dunadan looked pointedly at Legolas, "but why hide your passing if you want to be followed. I can find no sign of Danethil's company, but I am certain they would have interpreted the trail as I have, and that would have led them here, and then to the east."  
  
Legolas nodded, as did Boromir. He turned to the captain of his own guard, "Aldaluin, what can you tell of this place?"  
  
Aldaluin shook his head, "Not much, sire. This place is not evil, but yet there was great evil here. Whether this is recent or merely a shadow left by the Nazgul and their army I do not know. I sense greater danger on the road which leads into the east, but that is the way we must go if we intend to follow the Daequendi." Daequendi – 'Shadow elves' it meant in the common tongue. Since the attacks in Khazad-bizar the name had suddenly come into use. Legolas did not know who had invented the name, but it had stuck.  
  
Boromir, looked the most troubled of all who were present, "Our foes have taken the road to Minas Morgul. Great evil still dwells in that place, and the evil sensed by Aldaluin may only be a remnant of that which abided there for so many years. But evil invites other evil, and Minas Morgul would prove an advantageous location to sit and wait for a foe to approach."  
  
Boromir pointed towards the Ephel Duath whose dark slopes loomed ahead on the way the Daequendi had taken, "This road goes east, but curves south at the shoulder of that mountain you see yonder. When it comes to the east again it rises sharply to the edge of a great valley. On the other side lies Minas Morgul. Through some ancient wizardry that none yet remember the uppermost part of the tower rotates, and from its windows all of the valley can be seen. Sharp elven eyes could spot us long ere we arrived."  
  
"Could we not make our path through the wilderness and so come into the valley unseen?" asked Firith.  
  
Boromir shook his head, "We could take other paths until we reached the edge of the valley, but there the road cuts through a steep pass. The jagged peaks of the Ephel Duath lie on either side and neither horse nor man could traverse them for they are sheer cliffs with no footholds or even vegetation with which to climb them. There is only one way to enter the Morgul Valley from the east, and that way is undoubtedly watched."  
  
Firith laughed light-heartedly in the manner of the elves and then leaped onto the statue of Elendil quickly finding his way onto the king's lap. "Perhaps the Ephel Duath cannot be crossed by man or beast, but elves walk lightly where men dare not tread."  
  
Andru, one of the Dunadan, and the youngest of the group next to Boromir, glared angrily at the elf, "While you are up there why don't you start a fire and send smoke signals to the Daequendi announcing our arrival." Even before he had finished his sentence a dagger had planted itself in the ground at the Ranger's feet. To his credit Andru did not flinch at the blade, but this was not the first time one of Lalaith's deadly weapons had come within a hair of one of the Ranger's limbs. Andru's glare moved to the female elf and did not budge."  
  
Lalaith calmly came towards him, bent down, and retrieved her knife, "I do not think you should be questioning Firith's abilities at stealth. Even if we are able to evade the eyes of our enemy the din you men create when you walk upon the earth will be enough to rouse every elf within Ithilien, dark or no."  
  
Legolas sighed. The endless bickering between the elves and men was beginning to wear on him. Lalaith and Firith seemed to think it was their duty in life to insult the Rangers in every possible way, and Andru and Gerath could be easily baited. In a corner of the elf's mind it occurred to him that others might think the same about Gimli and himself, but he quickly dismissed the thought and took immediate action to stop the next argument. "Stop this pointless arguing. If we all would like to keep our heads then we must not lose our focus." Legolas looked to Andru, then Lalaith, and finally up at Firith, who sensing the mood of his lord quickly climbed down and joined the others.  
  
Legolas turned to Boromir and his Rangers. "Know you any other path which leads to Minas Morgul?"  
  
Tolmoth shook his head, "There is but one route into Minas Morgul from the east, Prince Legolas. But I would suggest we take the road north to the pass of Cirith Gorgor. From there we can enter Mordor, and traveling south we can take the pass of Cirith Ungol and so approach Minas Morgul from the east. I do not believe our enemy would expect this."  
  
Legolas considered Tolmoth's plan. It was sound enough, but there was a warning in his heart that told him he should not tarry. "A good plan, Dunadan, but I dare not take the time. Gimli's captors could decide at any moment that the dwarf is of no more use to them and slay him. We must take the shortest route, and that is to go east."  
  
Boromir spoke up, "That is madness, Legolas. You are walking directly into their trap. What use will they have for Gimli if they capture you? The dwarf will not draw another breath once you are within their grasp. It would be better to go around."  
  
Legolas looked hard at Boromir. The young man was such a contradiction. On the one hand he was warning Legolas of rash behavior, but on the other Boromir himself had defied the orders of his father and prince and took a path of deadly peril. The practical influences of his father were often at war with the daring influences of his Uncle Eomer. At the moment Faramir was winning. "No, Boromir. Madness it may be, but my path lies east." The prince of the elves of Ithilien looked around at his company, "I cannot ask any of you to continue on this journey with me. In this you must listen to the counsel of your own hearts."  
  
Boromir stepped forward and put his hand on Legolas's shoulder, "My path lies with you, my friend. Many times has my father said he trusts the feelings of elves more than the spoken truths of most men. If you feel we have need of haste then our path is set."  
  
Aldaluin and Lalaith stepped forward and also pledged their assistance. Firith, stepped forward too, but with a twinkle in his eye said, "I shall follow you as well, my lord, but not only for your sake, but for the sake of my young friend Andru, who will undoubtedly be in need of rescuing ere we have finished our quest."  
  
Andru's eyes smoldered at the elf's gibe, "And I shall follow you, Prince Legolas, in case the elves suddenly forget themselves. This one in particular is so easily distracted. I'd hate for us to be in the middle of battle when Firith suddenly has an uncontrollable desire to chase butterflies, or sing a song to a toadstool, or compose a poem about the color of the slime on a stone in the river."  
  
Amazingly, Legolas was able to catch Lalaith's hand before another dagger could be thrown. Boromir and Gerath were stifling back their laughter, and Legolas glared at them with narrowed eyes. But he said nothing. Firith and Lalaith, as well as Andru, were some of Ithilien's finest warriors, and they would be needed in the hours ahead.  
  
Only a twinkle in Tolmoth's gray eyes betrayed his silent laughter, but he recovered quickly, "Let us ride to the east. We will make camp under the shadow of the Ephel Duath until after sunset. The new moon will not rise until the hour just before dawn giving us the cover of darkness to cross the pass into the Morgul Valley. We must leave the horses behind here. On foot, with no moon, and wearing the cloaks made for us by Legolas's people we may yet enter the valley without notice."  
  
…………………………………………………………………………………  
  
The western sky had blazed as though made of gold then it slowly cooled into pink, blue, and then violet. The land grew dark. Legolas watched as the stars slowly filled up the sky. Boromir and his men had taken rest in the few hours before nightfall, Lalaith and Firith lay side-by-side, eyes open, walking the world of elven dreams. Serewen had removed herself into the wood, as was her wont. Aldaluin had gone to search the pass for any sign of the enemy.  
  
The evil that Legolas and Aldaluin had sensed had grown increasingly strong as they neared the Morgul Valley. The evil that had abided here not so long ago was almost palpable to the elves, and Legolas shuddered at the feel. Yet, there was something else. It seemed to him that there was another presence; an evil which was much older, and which bore more hatred and venom than the Nazgul. This ancient malevolence seemed to hang all about him, and though little in this world frightened him the strength of the hatred he felt filled him with dread. This was not an evil intent on destroying all that was good, it was intent on destroying him, and him alone.  
  
He felt rather than heard the approach of Aldaluin. Legolas rose to face him and with a nod Aldaluin told him it was time to depart. Quickly they roused the men. Lalaith and Firith had awoken with the return of Aldaluin. Lalaith checked her daggers, which were concealed in every possible area of her raiment. A sword was strapped to her back, as were two long knives. A third hung at her waist. Firith, with a curved elven sword at his side, adjusted his quiver upon his back and tested his bowstring. The Dunedain had strapped on their swords and were donning their elven cloaks. Serewen appeared out of the woods, her elven blade still strapped at her waist, as was her long knife. With a quiver full of arrows and bow at his back Legolas led them silently up the final ascent to the pass that led into the Morgul Valley.  
  
They walked single-file hugging the walls of the mountain as they rounded its shoulder and came within sight of the dark tower that had been home to the Nazgul. An eerie glow emanated from Minas Morgul. In the days before the Ringwraiths the tower had belonged to the men of Gondor, and was a defense against the forces of Mordor. In those days it had been called Minas Ithil, the Tower of the Moon, and it glowed with the moon's heavenly light. But the evil brought by the Nazgul and the foul orcs had tainted that light, making it wan and sickly, such that the whole valley appear bleached, as if it were part of the wraith world itself. From the uppermost tower a bright, yellow light issued forth from inside the citadel as if a single eye were casting its gaze about the valley, and the light moved as the tower slowly turned so that it appeared as if the eye were searching them out in the darkness.  
  
The pass was not long and they were making their way down into the valley almost immediately. Boromir moved next to Legolas and whispered, "Can your eyes spy any person at the windows of that tower where the light is burning?" Legolas searched the windows, but could discern no shape or figure. The elf shook his head. Boromir dropped back and they continued their descent to the valley floor.  
  
As they entered the valley the sense of evil grew. Not only the evil issuing forth from Minas Morgul, but also that evil that was directed toward Legolas. He felt as if unseen eyes were staring into his back, but when he turned to look there was only the men and elves of his company, and no enemy to be seen.  
  
As soon as they were able they left the roadside and continued their journey under the cover of the trees and growth of the Ephel Duath. The way was slower, but the well-trained feet of the Dunedain and the skilled feet of the elves sped them along. With several hours to go before the rising of the moon they came to the foot of the valley where ran a small stream. The evil had grown stronger and stronger until Legolas's elven senses were screaming danger to him once again. Judging by the looks on the faces of Lalaith and Firith they sensed it as well. Aldaluin came to stand next to him. The fearsome glow coming from Minas Morgul gave just enough light for Legolas's keen eyes to see the look of warning in those of his captain. Aldaluin whispered so low that Legolas had to strain to hear him, "We are being watched." Legolas nodded his agreement. Turning he looked at Boromir and his men. The Rangers had loosened their swords in their scabbards, a sure sign they could sense trouble as well, and they appeared to be searching for something.  
  
Boromir's face was grave and he moved to stand next to Legolas and Aldaluin, "Where is Serewen?"  
  
Both elves turned to look behind them, but there was no sign of her. Legolas turned to go back when suddenly the sounds of many feet running could be heard from across the stream. Turning again he saw a band of orcs moving towards them. Firith's bow was already singing and orcs were falling before they could even cross the stream. The Dunedain, following Boromir, were rushing to meet the oncoming orcs, and Aldaluin and Lalaith ran with them. The hand of Lalaith flickered in the faint light and an orc went down, her dagger imbedded in its throat. Legolas grabbed the bow from his back and in one fluid movement had fitted arrow to string and then let loose. The orc fell even as he was reaching out to grab the sword arm of Andru.  
  
The battle raged near the water. Lalaith had a long knife in each hand, and she was easily disemboweling any orcs who came within in her reach. A single orc had managed to come around behind Firith as he loosed his arrows, but Lalaith caught sight of him before Legolas could react. Shifting her knives to one hand, the now empty hand slipped inside her tunic. A flash was all that could be seen as the dagger flew from her hand and sliced deep into the orcs eye. His body fell twitching on the ground. Just as quickly the long knife was shuttled to her empty hand in time to swing down and catch an orc in the back.  
  
The swords of the Dunedain flashed in the darkness, and the orc bodies were beginning to pile up at their feet. Across the small stream a large group of orcs were rushing straight at the Dunedain. Legolas checked his bow and swinging in their direction he let fly an arrow. The arrow hit the lead orc square between the eyes and also alerted Boromir and his men of their attack. Crying "Ithilien, Ithilien!" Boromir leapt over the bodies at his feet and blade swinging in a wide arc he fell amongst his enemies. The other Dunedain followed, as did Aldaluin wielding two swords in deadly fashion.  
  
Legolas reached back into his quiver for another arrow, but suddenly felt a cold hand on his wrist. With incredible strength the hand pulled him backwards and a knife blade was suddenly at his throat. The blade bit into his skin, and the elf could feel warm droplets of blood trickling down his neck. Looking up he stared into dark eyes, and a voice as cold as steel whispered, "After thousands of years of waiting, I can now fulfill my oath. Look into my eyes, son of Thranduil, and see your doom." 


	10. The Past Returns

A/N It seems like every time I have posted lately I have had to apologize for my lateness in updating. Well, I am apologizing yet again. Please bear with me, my life is bit hectic at the moment. Since it took me so long to update I decided against my original plan for this chapter which was to write only about Faramir, Thranduil, Elessar, and Eomer. Instead, since I left you all at such a cliffhanger in the last chapter I decided to include more about Legolas and his fate.  
  
Again thank you so much for the reviews. I cannot tell you how much I appreciate them BTW, someone E-mailed me shortly after I posted the last chapter (the E-mail was entitled Out of Darkness) but I accidentally deleted the E-mail. (Believe it or not, I sneezed as I was deleting all the junk E-mail and the mouse jumped and bye-bye.). Anyway, I did not catch the name, but if you E-mailed me and did not get a response I apologize and would ask if you would kindly resend I will respond in kind. Thanks. Enjoy.  
  
Chapter X  
  
The Past Returns  
  
King Thranduil stood on his balcony staring at the starry sky. How beautiful the stars had always seemed to him. Brilliant white jewels set in ebony they glowed with a warmth and fire that could be felt deep within his elven soul. The stars had been a part of this world as long as he had, and their longevity was a comfort to one so old. He felt his age now, but not in the manner of humans who have reached the ends of their lives dwindling away towards the inevitable conclusion. The elves did not suffer the physical affects of aging, as they did not bear the burden of mortality, but they were not immune to the passing of time.  
  
Through all his long years Thranduil had seen the world moving and changing about him. He had been present at the end of the First Age when the sea rose and consumed Beleriand and the very land of Middle-earth was changed. He had witnessed mountains falling and rising, rivers changing their courses, vast forests reduced to small isles of trees. He had witnessed the never-ending cycle of evil rising in power then being defeated by the good peoples of the earth and eventually rising again in a new guise. But now Thranduil who forsook the Undying Lands to remain in his beloved Middle- earth felt for the first time that Middle-earth had passed him by, and that he no longer had a place within it's beautiful lands.  
  
Such was the bane of the elves - to watch the world changing around them, as they themselves remained the same. Even now the elves of Middle-earth mourned for the loss of all that once was, and when the pain and suffering became too great they traveled to the Grey Havens and departed this world forever. But such love did Thranduil have for Middle-earth that he had come to Greenwood the Great and built his kingdom. And within his small kingdom he was able to slow the changing of the world for a short time.  
  
But even as he built this new kingdom the world without was changing rapidly. The elves were leaving Middle-earth and men were increasing. The elves had preserved Middle-earth. They had lived in a symbiotic relationship with all of her wonders and gifts, and worked to co-exist with all things living. But the men and especially the abhorrent dwarves were the parasites of Middle-earth. They were masters of destruction and waste. They disemboweled the mountains and cut down the trees. They slew the great animals that roamed the lands for sport, leaving the bodies to rot upon the earth while they took only the antlers or pelt. They damned the rivers heedless of the effects on the fish and birds. Perhaps this was why Thranduil so often sought the stars for comfort. Illuvatar had placed them out of the reach of man, dwarf or even elf, and so they could not be marred. They remained ever beautiful, ever the same.  
  
Thranduil gripped the railing of the balcony he was standing on. It was now his second night in Minas Mallen, and he had spent both nights on the balcony of his room staring east and north. He did not know why, but he felt certain that his son was in that direction. The impetus to go and search for his youngest son himself was strong, but he knew that as long as these Daequendi, as they were being called here in Ithilien, did not have him then they would not kill Legolas.  
  
Thranduil's room was high up in the main tower of Minas Mallen. From there his sharp elven eyes could see far, and movement at the edge of the forest surrounding Amon Galen caught his attention. A rider was approaching the city. As he emerged from the trees Thranduil could see that is was one of Faramir's Dunedain and he was riding at a full gallop. Turning around the king of Eryn Lasgalen left his rooms and made for the heart of the citadel.  
  
He arrived at the gate to the citadel in time to see the rider coming up the street through the city. The rider approached swiftly, and was soon at the gate. "Hail, Thaldin! I come bearing urgent news. I must speak with Prince Faramir immediately." The Dunadan's voice sounded grave, but then again, mused Thranduil, all Rangers spoke gravely even when it concerned nothing more than the weather or the state of their health.  
  
Thaldin motioned to one of his guards and the man entered the palace at a run. "Hail, Arnoth!" Thaldin called back, "and welcome home." The gate was opened and Arnoth entered. The Ranger dismounted from his horse and handed the reins to a page when he noticed Thranduil standing there. The Dunadan looked even more grim, if that was possible, as he approached the King of the Wood Elves. Thranduil noted with some shock that the man had read his thoughts. "Sire." The man bowed low before him, "I am sorry, but I have heard nothing of the search for Prince Legolas. Though, in truth, I was not among those who are searching for him. My errand was elsewhere." Bowing low again the Ranger turned and entered the citadel.  
  
He had not really expected news yet, but he was certain that something of great import had brought the Dunadan at such speed to seek Faramir in the quiet hours before the dawn. Thranduil followed Arnoth, and soon found himself at the doors into Faramir and Eowyn's apartments. The guards outside opened the door for Arnoth to enter. Thranduil followed, and the guards did not stop him, though both raised eyebrows at his boldness. It was a breach of etiquette to come unannounced into the presence of royalty, but the elf-King was beyond such trivial things now.  
  
Arnoth strode into the rooms and bowed low before Prince Faramir, "My Lord, I have returned out of the East with grave tidings." Faramir paused at the sight of Thranduil behind the Ranger but quickly realized that the King of Eryn Lasgalen would not be persuaded to leave. "What have you learned, Arnoth?"  
  
"As you know I was dispatched to southern Mordor to watch over the Easterlings and their doings. We knew they were amassing a large army of orcs, men, and wargs beneath the southern mountains of the Ephel Duath. Two days ago they were congregating on the fields of Nurn. The men and orcs bore spears, swords, bows and arrows, and other such weapons, and all wore mail and armor. They are preparing to attack, and although when I left they had not yet marched forth, I am almost certain their first target will be Ithilien. But that is not the worst of the news. When I left the orcs were still poring out of their mountain hideaways. I estimated that there were at least ten thousand orcs and men visible when I departed, but there was no way to judge the numbers still hidden beneath the Ephel Duath."  
  
Faramir was not a man to show surprise easily, but even Ithilien's prince could not hide the shock in hearing such news. The numbers of orcs still within the confines of Mordor and its borders had been greatly underestimated. That or they were breeding at an unprecedented rate. Faramir sighed and turned to Arnoth, "We suspected new leadership, but this is far beyond anything we could have predicted. It is as if the Dark Lord himself has returned to summon their strength again."  
  
Arnoth said nothing and Faramir stood silent for some time, but eventually the prince shook his head clearing away whatever thoughts might have been keeping his attention then he turned to the Ranger, "Go, Arnoth, and rouse the Dunedain. Tell them to come to the Great Hall at sunrise."  
  
Arnoth bowed again before his prince and then departed soundlessly. Faramir nodded to Thranduil, "A moment, your highness, I must send word to all those who must attend the war council." The Prince strode to the doors to his apartments and spoke with his guards. After a few moments Faramir closed the door, but he did not turn around. He bowed his head and Thranduil's ears detected a small sigh escape the man's lips.  
  
"You are troubled, young Prince, because this news puts you to a difficult decision," Thranduil said matter-of-factly. Faramir turned to face the Elven King. "Many of your best soldiers are right now searching Ithilien for Gimli and for our sons. Should you call them back, or let them continue the search? Either way, dire consequences could result." Faramir nodded, but allowed the king to continue. "But in truth there is no choice. You are the leader of this country, and you must guide your people as they prepare for war. It is your duty, much though it may pain you. You must call the men back."  
  
Thranduil's gaze strayed to the windows of Faramir's apartment. Dawn had not yet come and the stars still shone brightly. "But you will not bear this burden alone. With your leave, I will fight beside you, along with all the elves I have brought out of Eryn Lasgalen, though 350 is small compared to 10,000."  
  
Faramir was stunned. "No, sire, not if that 350 is of your race." The Prince of Ithilien looked upon Thranduil and felt a kinship with the elf. Both men suffered the agony of not knowing the fates of their one and only child. "Will you also remain with us to fight the enemy out of the east?"  
  
Thranduil's smile was cold and sardonic. "If by that you mean do I intend to refrain from searching for Legolas myself? Then the answer is yes. Though I bear it at great pain, I will not seek my son. My coming to his aid would be as a death warrant if I were captured. Too late were my attempts to rescue the others. The lesson was been learned at great price."  
  
Thranduil looked tired and worn, almost human. Faramir felt a great pity for him, but kept this to himself knowing it would only anger the Elven King. "I will not abandon the search completely. Four of my Rangers will continue the hunt for Legolas, Boromir, and the others. They may yet return safely to us."  
  
For the first time since he had arrived a genuine smile crept across Thranduil's lips, "And when they do they will have their fathers to deal with. It might be better for them if they stay to fight the Daequendi." Faramir grinned back. "Yes, you are undoubtedly correct. However, I believe Boromir has it much worse than Legolas for when I have finished with him he will then be handed over to his mother." King and Prince laughed out loud, and for a moment the darkness was held at bay.  
  
………………………………………………………………………….  
  
Through the narrow cleft in the mountains Legolas could see the sky turning to aquamarine. Dawn was approaching. With both arms tied tightly behind his back it was difficult to navigate the narrow staircase he was climbing. Many of the stones were loose and Legolas had to be careful not to lose his balance and go tumbling backward. Behind him he could hear the two orcs grunting as they labored up the long staircase. Occasionally they seemed to argue with one another, but Legolas did not understand the foul speech of Mordor, and so he could not be certain if they were truly arguing or if that was simply the timbre of their language. No matter, the orcs concerned him little. What concerned him most was climbing the steps in front of him - Serewen.  
  
Anger rose in the pit of his stomach as he watched her lightly mount each step. He had been surprised during the night when he discovered it was she who had captured him at knifepoint in the Morgul Vale, but now that surprise had turned to anger. A rage was building within him unlike anything he had ever known. How had she deceived the elves for so long? How had she deceived him? The evil which dwelt within her was now palpable to the elf-prince, but why had he been unable to sense it before?  
  
"You could not sense me, my young fool, because in your pride you could not even consider that one of your own would ever betray you." Legolas grimaced at her reading his mind, but said nothing. "I did my best to hide my true nature from all of the elves of Edhil-e-londe, but they allowed themselves to be fooled. You are all arrogant and blind to your own faults. It was all too easy."  
  
This was the first time she had deigned to speak with him, and Legolas was ill prepared for the conversation. But he needed information, "And what is your true nature, Serewen?"  
  
Legolas perceived a slight stiffening in her gait as she continued to climb. "Since I no longer have to play the role of dutiful subject you will call me by my true name, Morwen." She waited for a reply, but none came. "By your silence I assume my name is unfamiliar to you?"  
  
Legolas searched his memory, but could not recall ever having known an elf by that name. "No, your name means nothing to me." Behind him the harsh words of the two orcs grew louder, and this time he could hear the sounds of pushing and jostling. It would seem that they were having an argument after all. "Should it?"  
  
Morwen laughed quietly to herself, "So, I was correct."  
  
"What were you correct about?" Legolas replied with some irritation. He had never liked conversations where he had to extract every bit of information with great difficulty.  
  
"I was correct about your father. He did not tell you of his past."  
  
Legolas sighed, the conversation was more exhausting to him than the long climb, but he knew he had only a short time. He knew the path they were taking would lead to the tower of Cirith Ungol. It was the same path the Ringbearer had taken twenty years ago. There were two long flights of stairs and then they must travel through the underground tunnels where dwelt Shelob, if she had survived Sam's attack. He was certain that's where Gimli was being held, and the dwarf would be executed upon his arrival. He could not let that happen. "My father has spoken to me of his past, but he believed in living in the present, and so his thoughts did not often stray to days gone by."  
  
"How much do you know about his past?"  
  
"Enough, but I will not discuss these things with you." In truth, his father was very close-lipped about his past, but Legolas had attributed this to the pain of losing his wife, Legolas's mother. It irritated him that this dark elf might know more about his father than he did.  
  
"I have no need to discuss such things with you. I know all about Thranduil's past. I was there for much of it."  
  
They had reached the end of the first staircase. They were still between the walls off the two mountains, but the steps gave way to a gentle incline. Morwen stopped and turned to face Legolas. "Tell me, do you know how your brothers died?"  
  
Legolas glared at her, "I have no brothers."  
  
Morwen threw her head back and laughed. The sound was as cold as the mountain air around them. It held no joy, but seemed to mock the elf- prince. This was more humiliation than he could bear. He had failed on all points to recognize the enemy within his midst, he had failed his people, he had failed Gimli, and he had failed his father. One foot shot out and deftly caught a small pebble lying on the ground. With a flick the stone hurtled through the air and hit Morwen in the eye. She stumbled backwards, and Legolas would have pounced upon her, even without the use of his arms if the two orcs had not drawn their blades and forced him against the far wall.  
  
The dark elf was huddled against the opposite wall, one hand cupping the wounded eye. She regained her composure quickly and approached her captive. The eye was already beginning to swell. She moved the two orcs aside and drew her elven blade. She pressed her body against his and the tip of her knife traced the outline of his jaw.  
  
Legolas stared back into those black eyes, and for the first time he noticed that there was nothing behind them. An infinity of space lay within her stare, blackness upon blackness. Legolas shuddered slightly under that gaze. Blood trickled down his neck from where her blade had pierced the skin.  
  
"How beautiful is Legolas," Morwen's voice was like ice in his ear. "Many have remarked that there is none fairer of Thranduil's people. The same was said of Haldim, your brother, but you are even fairer than he." Morwen leaned closer so that Legolas could feel her hot breath upon his face. "My father slew him in Menegroth. He beheaded him and gouged out both his eyes while your father looked on, and I will do the same to you in time."  
  
Legolas stared back into those lifeless eyes and did not flinch, "You seek to turn me against my own father, but I will not listen to your lies." In one swift movement Morwen stepped back, brought the haft of her knife round, and slammed into Legolas's face. He saw stars in front of his eyes, but already being against the wall he was able to remain on his feet.  
  
"Know this, beautiful one, you will be journeying to the Undying Lands very soon, and when you arrive there you will find Elessea, your mother. There also you will find Sule and Aldan and Haldim, your brothers, and Ailin, your sister." Morwen took a fistful of Legolas's golden hair in her hand and yanked his head backwards. Resting the blade aside his throat she whispered in his ear, "I know this because I watched my father as he beheaded each of them, but as for you," Morwen leaned in closer and Legolas felt the blade bite even deeper into his skin, "I will personally remove that pretty head when the time comes." The blade was removed and he felt the wetness of blood where it had been. At the same time Morwen threw him by the hair across the cleft and into the opposite wall. This time Legolas could not keep his balance and he fell into a heap next to the wall.  
  
Legolas's mind was reeling. He wanted to believe that Morwen lied, but his heart told him otherwise. His father had been very close about his life before he had built his kingdom. When he was much younger he had pressed the King of Mirkwood about his past, begged him to tell of the Eldar days, but his father would not speak of it. He said only that the past held much pain for him, and if Morwen did speak the truth then his father's words were only too true. Legolas picked himself up slowly and stared at Morwen. The anger was building, "Why, Serewen?! What has my family done to you that you and your father would seek such vengeance?"  
  
Morwen's eyes darkened, "You will call me Morwen, son of Thranduil. I require you to be alive when your father arrives, but I can inflict much pain before death comes." She paused for a moment to let the threat sink in, but continued without a reply. "And as for your question – I seek your death, as my father did of your brothers and sister, to repay Thranduil for the murder of my brothers."  
  
Legolas could take no more. It was one thing for the dark elf to imply that his father had hidden the truth from him, but it was quite another to accuse him of murder. Legolas lunged at Morwen but dropped at the last moment and rolled into her legs, well out of the way of her knife blade. He was rewarded with the thud of her body falling to the ground. Rising quickly Legolas was able to level a kick at the base of her head. A soft moan emanated from Morwen's lips and she went limp.  
  
The two orcs had watched the fight from a safe distance at the top of the stairs, but when their master had been overpowered they moved forward for the attack. After all the elf's arms were still bound behind him. Legolas knelt down and grasped Morwen's knife in his two hands. The orcs were almost upon him. Lightly he jumped straight up. Catching a small cleft in the rock with his foot he pushed off and sailed over the heads of his attackers. He headed straight for the stairs and began to descend them three at a time.  
  
He continued down the mountain for a few minutes until he felt he felt he had a comfortable lead. He stopped momentarily to saw through the bonds around his wrists. The blade was sharp and his hands were free within moments. Instantly he was running down the stairway again. His elven senses kept him on his feet and his eyes strained hard to avoid the broken steps and cracks. He knew he was being pursued. He could feel her presence as a black shadow following him, but she was not gaining on him.  
  
The steps flew by in a blur. Legolas found the concentration necessary to avoid tripping and falling becoming increasingly difficult. How many minutes went by as he continued his descent Legolas did not know, but eventually he neared the end of the great stairway. The elf-prince gauged there to be about two hundred steps remaining. Still he could feel the shadow following behind, but he would certainly reach the bottom of the steps before her, and this would give him time to hide himself and his path of escape. He pushed himself even faster as he neared the bottom.  
  
Suddenly Legolas's legs came out from under him. Something heavy had hit him from behind. He was thrown forward and hit the steps in front of him hard. Dazed he tried to grab hold of anything to stop him from rolling, but as his hand grasped a corner of cold stone he was again hit by another heavy object. This time he caught site of the body of one of the orcs as it rolled past him, but he was now tumbling out of control himself. For a short time he was wracked with pain each time his body hit the cold, hard stone beneath him. He cried out as he came at last to the foot of the stairs. His body continued to roll for a short distance then finally came to rest, but Legolas did not care. He had succumbed to the blissful numbness of unconsciousness.  
  
………………………………………………………………………………..  
  
Lalaith ran as fast as she could along the ledge. The rangers had tracked the footprints of Serewen and Legolas to this trail. The path soon led onto the hard stone of the mountain, and there tracking was impossible, but this could be the only possible route they could have taken. The company was making all haste to follow after the two missing elves.  
  
Lalaith stopped. Her ears detected noises up ahead. The sounds were unfamiliar to the elf, but they were drawing closer. Suddenly Lalaith heard a voice cry out in pain. That was Legolas. Instantly she was running forward again.  
  
Rounding a bend in the mountain Lalaith saw Serewen leaning over the body of Legolas. He was not moving. Neither were the two orcs lying close by. Serewen looked up at the sound of the company's approach obviously startled by their presence. She rose to greet them. "It is good we have found one another again. Prince Legolas has fallen from these steps while pursuing these orcs. He is not dead, but I fear he is gravely injured."  
  
Tolmoth knelt beside the Prince and checked his pulse. Many dark bruises were forming all over his body. Tolmoth called the elf's name, but there was no response. Rising he turned to face the rest of the company, "Serewen is correct. He is gravely injured, but I have seen those of his race suffer worse and recover fully in a matter of days. For now, all we can do is wait and see.  
  
"Here we are hidden from the eyes of Minas Morgul. It is a risk, but we should build a fire to keep the elf warm, and also I am in need of some hot water to steep my herbs in." Tolmoth nodded to Gerath and Andru who immediately went to hunt for firewood.  
  
Boromir shook his head, "And every moment we wait puts Master Gimli at greater risk." Faramir's son looked distressed. "But we must do what we can for Legolas." Boromir watched as Tolmoth made the injured elf more comfortable and then began to search his bag for whatever healing herbs he might have with him. Boromir's attention shifted to Serewen. "What happened, Serewen? How did you and the Prince come to be here?"  
  
Serewen looked at him with her black eyes. One of those eyes was quite swollen now. "We were captured by orcs, as I'm sure you have already guessed. They marched us up this flight of steps here, but when we came to the top Legolas fought his way free. He slew many of the orcs, but these two fled back down the stair, and he gave chase. I followed him. He had come near to the bottom when he lost his footing and fell the rest of the way taking the two orcs with him."  
  
Boromir, like his father, could sense when someone was lying, and he knew Serewen was not speaking the truth. Or at least she was not speaking all of the truth. He had never known an elf to lie, and this concerned him greatly. He did not think the other elves would take too kindly to his accusing Serewen of false speech, and so he let the matter lie storing the information until later. When Legolas awoke he could confirm her story. 


	11. Preparations for War

A/N This chapter is all Faramir, so I hope all you Faramir fans get enough of him here because, my god, he has a lot to say. For all you who love that bratty elf and that incorrigible dwarf, fear not the next chapter will make you happier, and also I have it on good authority that the two of them will be reunited soon.  
  
Thanks again for all of your wonderful reviews. They really brighten my day. So please, read on and enjoy.  
  
Disclaimer: all characters, settings, and elvish language are strictly from the mind of J.R.R. Tolkien or inspired by him.  
  
Chapter XI  
  
Preparations for War  
  
The deep, throaty sounds of men's voices filled the Meeting Hall of Minas Mallen echoing off the marble walls, ceiling, and floor. The bright sunshine from the newly risen sun set the walls aglow and cast everything within the room in a brilliant light, yet little could cheer the hearts of the peoples gathered within. The sense of concern and apprehension was almost a physical presence. The word had spread quickly of the armies to the east, and all present knew that 18 years of peace in Ithilien had come to an end.  
  
Faramir stared at the faces. Some were like to his own, grim with age and the knowledge of what lay ahead. These were the men who had fought against Sauron for countless years while Gondor held fast against the strength of Mordor. The very men who had fought so bravely in the Battle of Pelennor Fields knowing their was little hope that the battle could be won, but hoping to distract Sauron so that the Ringbearer might go unnoticed through Mordor toward Mount Doom. Others were younger and more eager. These were ready to go into battle, having heard only the glorious tales told by their sires and grandsires and not yet understanding the consequences. How like his own son they were, foolishly wanting to run headfirst into a darkness that would forever change them. It would steal their innocence and replace it with cynicism and distrust.  
  
Representatives for all the peoples of Ithilien were present at the War Council seated in a great circle around a large wooden table. On Faramir's right were the Dunadain, the hardy remnants of the men of Numenor. All wore the same expressionless mask, and none spoke for it would be a waste of time to speculate on something when all would be laid bare in a few moments. Rangers were ever watchful, ever weighing the situation to gain the upper hand.  
  
In stark contrast to the Dunedain were the men to Faramir's left, the commanding officers of the Army of Ithilien. When it came to effectiveness and battle-readiness there was little difference between the two for all that separated the two groups was the lineage of the Dunedain. Yet the soldiers of the army did not appreciate nor follow the staid mannerisms of the Rangers. Even now the soldiers were joking and taunting each other, but Faramir knew this was not due to lack of concern or to not giving the current situation the seriousness it deserved. It was their way of coping with the stress of the coming days.  
  
Kolim and his contingent of dwarves sat to the left of the soldiers. They too were laughing heartily at some jest or joke, but there was a fierceness within their eyes which hinted at a readiness to draw arms. Too many of their own had already fallen to this enemy, and they would have their vengeance upon them.  
  
Between the dwarves and Dunedain were the elves, both of Edhil-e-londe and Eryn Lasgalen. Faramir had noticed a quiet resignation amongst the elves as of late. Not the resignation of a defeated people, but rather theirs was a sadness coupled with the determination of those who knew what must be done though the knowledge pained them.  
  
With a sigh Faramir rose. All talk ceased immediately and silence filled the hall. "It has been many years since I was involved in a war council, and my heart is heavy that I should return to such a thing after this time of peace." Faramir paused. He could see the regret in his words reflected back at him in the eyes of every member of the council. "But all here have pledged to fight against the forces of darkness and protect the good peoples of Middle-earth. This is our duty. And if we here do as our duty calls us then none can stand in our way. Therefore I ask you do not grieve for the past, but strive to bring peace once again to our beautiful land." All who were seated around the table rose in response to these words. Many voices shouted and swords were raised high in the air. The Rangers had risen as one, and drawing their swords they brought their blades together in a steely crash. Proud voices bellowed "Gondor, Gondor!!!" and then a final "And Ithilien the Beautiful!!!" It was the response Faramir had hoped for. He waited patiently for the cheers to stop and for all to retake their seats.  
  
"You will recall that after Sauron was defeated and Elessar ascended the throne of Gondor he forgave the Easterlings who dwelt in Mordor for aiding Sauron. It was his belief, and mine as well, that Sauron had enslaved these men and that they did his bidding out of duress and not fealty. And so, he forgave them their transgressions and gave to them the land surrounding the Sea of Nurnen in Mordor called Nurn. But we did not forget about these men, and as many of you know we have maintained a constant vigil on their activities and numbers. All this was done without their knowledge for we did not wish them to feel that we distrusted them and so make them our enemy, but it seems that they have been aware of our spies for some time now.  
  
"Deep within the bowels of the southern Ephel Duath they were able to form an alliance with the orcs of Mordor. Here they built their smithies and forged weapons and armor even where they took the iron from the earth. That they had forged steel underground was known to us for we had witnessed men who journeyed into these mines every day and returned before nightfall. No weapon was ever seen leaving the mines only tools necessary for the growing of crops and the preparing of food. All seemed quiet from our vantage - until now.  
  
"Two months ago I received the first news that all was not peaceful in Nurn. Our scouts reported orcs amongst the men. Weaponry and armor were now seen coming out of the mountains. Having harvested the summer's bounty the women and children had moved to the eastern shores of the Sea of Nurnen and planted their winter crops. All indications were the Easterlings and orcs were preparing for war, but they had not yet shown any signs of organization.  
  
"Early this morning I received the first reports that they are at this very moment preparing to march on Ithilien. Their forces are gathering on the plains of Nurn, and the orcs are now leaving their hiding places beneath the Ephel Duath to join them. And if we erred in allowing the Men of Nurn too much freedom then the most grievous result is that we have miscalculated the numbers of Easterlings and orcs in Mordor. My last report indicates ten thousand in number, and perhaps more still hidden under the mountains. This is a force equal to that which attacked Minas Tirith in the War of the Ring. This is disconcerting to say the least, but more importantly it begs the question who is behind all this for orcs are too busy fighting amongst themselves to ever achieve this kind of an army without someone else to frighten them into submission  
  
It is possible that the Easterlings themselves have achieved this, but I do not think so. Any whomever would want to control this great a number of orcs must also possess enough power to keep them in line. They must fear their leaders more than each other. The Men of Nurn possess nothing that I am aware of that could keep so great a number of orcs in line. My suspicions are that these Daequendi we have recently encountered are behind all of this. I believe their sudden appearance cannot be coincidence. Nevertheless, what their exact purpose is I cannot guess, and it is a dangerous thing when you do not know what compels your enemy.  
  
"For this reason I believe we cannot delay. Earlier this morning I discussed the news with King Elessar, King Eomer, and King Thranduil. All were in agreement for haste, and as such Elessar and Eomer have already returned to gather their own forces for the coming battle. At most they will be three days behind us, but we are to be the front line. More scouts have been sent to Mordor to track the enemy, but for now I must assume that the armies are already on the march. Therefore, we must be prepared to march forth by sunrise tomorrow."  
  
Faramir paused and looked at all who sat before him allowing the severity of his next words to gather more force, "These forces which have gathered in Mordor are greater than any of us expected. If they are allowed to cross over the Ephel Duath they will likely lay siege to Amon Galen and Minas Tirith. This is why we must make such haste, and cannot await the arrival of the men of Minas Tirith and Rohan.  
  
"The mountains of the southern Ephel Duath have no usable pass for an army to cross over. For this reason the enemy must either turn first east and come round the easternmost point of the mountains and come to Ithilien from the south, or they must come west and seek one of the passes through the western Ephel Duath. If they take the longer route to the east then our scouts will have time to warn us and we will revise our strategy, but I do not think they will choose such a path. It would increase their march by more than twice as much, and will also bring them into the land of Khand. Orcs are hardy, but that long of a march would take its toll on their strength. Also, we have no evidence that the Variags of Khand have allied themselves with the men and orcs of Mordor. They might take such a great army marching through their land as a threat. Little good would it do our enemy if they were to lose much of their force before they even came to Ithilien.  
  
"There are two major passes through the western wall of the Ephel Duath. There is the pass of Cirith Gorgor, but it is far to the north, and would take our enemy far out of their way. I do not think they will choose this path, but even if they do so our scouts will give us enough warning to modify our plans. There is also the Pass of Cirith Ungol, which seems more likely to be used due to its close proximity to Amon Galen. But there is another way in which a large army could cross the Ephel Duath.  
  
"There is a pass which was not made by men or orcs, but was carved out by the springs of the River Poros. The pass lies south of here about 100 leagues. That part of Ithilien is all but deserted and we did not even know of it until the Rangers going to and from Mordor discovered it. The pass itself is not long, only about ten leagues, and it is not high. The way is narrow, however, and quite steep in some parts, but I believe this is the route our enemy will try and take." An old, grizzled man to Faramir's left rose and laid his sword upon the table, the unspoken request to speak. Faramir nodded in acknowledgement, "You may speak, Giltir."  
  
"Thank you, your highness," replied Giltir. "It may be as you say and our enemy will come through the pass of Poros, but if they continue to the north and take Cirith Ungol instead will that not leave Amon Galen exposed, along with all our families?" Having spoken his peace the soldier sheathed his sword and took his seat. Many of the men around him nodded in agreement to his protest.  
  
Faramir lowered his head in consideration. He knew this was a gamble, but his intuition told him he was right. In the years before the War of the Ring Faramir had spent much time in Ithilien keeping watch on the comings and goings of Sauron's minions, and he had always followed his intuition even then. It had never failed him, but that would be of little assurance to these men who left that which they held most dear behind in Amon Galen. The urge to pace around the table was gnawing at him, but he thrust it aside. Taking a deep breath he spoke, "You are correct to voice your concerns, Giltir, and in truth it is a gamble we are taking. But if we wait to determine which route they will take it will likely mean that we will have to fight them on the open land of Ithilien. Their numbers are vast, and that could mean the siege of Amon Galen. That is a war I do not wish to fight.  
  
"We must trust in the speed and watchfulness of our Dunedain scouts. If they do go north to take Cirith Ungol then we will be advised, and I believe we will have enough time to move north and meet them before they come to Amon Galen.  
  
Faramir studied the faces of the men of Amon Galen. His men. His people. Though most did their best to hide their looks of concern it was plain that many were lacking confidence in the solvency of the plan. They needed reassurance. "I am your Prince, but I know that even that is not enough to waylay your fears for your loved ones. However, I also will be leaving behind one dear to me. The Princess Eowyn shall remain in Amon Galen with your families. And if danger should approach she will not falter, for as you all well know the Princess is a fierce warrior. It was she who slew the King of the Nazgul, and her skills as a warrior will we be no less in defense of her own people."  
  
The Princes words calmed the men's fears immediately. Princess Eowyn commanded a great respect from all the people of Ithilien as well as all of Gondor - less a Princess to most than a hero of the Battle of Pelennor Fields. Surely, none would dare attack Amon Galen while the slayer of the King of the Nazgul ruled within. Faramir took no such comfort from his own words, however. He knew his wife as only a husband could, and though he was proud of her accomplishments on the battlefield he knew only too well how human she was. But these were matters of the heart and had no place in a war council.  
  
"Haste, again, is the order of the day. Though our foe is great in number it may not be necessary to face the entire force at once, but only if we can arrive at the Pass of Poros first. As I have said the pass is narrow, and therefore no more than five can walk abreast at any point. If we are waiting for them when they pass through I believe we can cut off small groups as they exit and these would be easily vanquished.  
  
"The pass itself ends in a large vale bound on either side by the shoulders of two great mountains. On those mountains will our archers hide in the brush, there to lie in wait until my mark. Our foot soldiers will be positioned at the mouth of the vale to provide a target for the enemy. Once the enemy appears our foot soldiers will rush forward to meet them in battle. The orcs will hasten forward as well drawing them out of the pass and into the vale, but we will meet them in combat only briefly. Once they have been lured out to the edges of the vale that's when our cavalry will ride in from both sides to surround them and destroy them. Then will our archers help to finish off those remaining, but also they will prevent more orcs from exiting the pass into the vale. Once they have brought down as many of our foes as possible the cavalry will retreat behind the mountains. The archers will again hide in the brush and the foot soldiers will prepare for another attack. We must hold the vale until King Elessar and King Eomer arrive.  
  
"Giltir, you will coordinate the soldiers of Ithilien and take the right side of the vale. Thranduil will provide you with archers in addition to your own."  
  
The gruff man nodded in understanding, "It will be as you say, my lord."  
  
"Kolim, are the dwarves prepared to embark tomorrow?"  
  
The dwarf nodded. "The dwarves are ever ready, your highness. I will be departing immediately after this council for Khazad-bizar. We will march at dawn and meet you on the other side of the Emyn Arnen."  
  
"Good," nodded Faramir then he turned to the captain of his Rangers, "Danethil you will coordinate with King Thranduil and Kolim. You three will be responsible for the left side of the vale." Faramir turned to address the council as a whole but stopped when he noticed Thranduil had risen from his seat. "Your highness, is there something you wish to say?"  
  
Thranduil cast a sidelong glance at the dwarf contingent then back at Faramir, "I believe that you will find it is in the best interests of all if the dwarves were to aid Giltir and his men."  
  
Faramir stared in confusion at the King of Eryn Lasgalen. "I fail to understand your meaning, your highness."  
  
Thranduil seemed to sigh then stared meaningfully back at Faramir, "Then I shall speak plainly, Prince Faramir. Too many times have I met with treachery and deceit from the dwarves, and I would not have the lives of my people dependent on their unpredictable moods."  
  
For a moment all was silent within the Great Hall of Minas Mallen, and the men of Ithilien held their breaths in anticipation of the Dwarves reactions. The initial shock wore off clearly, however. The dwarves rose to stand on top of their chairs in indignation. Curses were thrown at Thranduil, the elves of Eryn Lasgalen, and in some cases all elves in general. Some of the dwarves had gone so far as to wield their axes and make generalized threats of violence toward the elven king.  
  
As if on cue members of Thranduil's delegation rose and surrounded their king, swords and knives drawn. Gray eyes flashed in their handsome faces as they retaliated in kind with harsh words and threats. Thranduil stood in the middle of this, quiet and calm, the eye in the middle of a storm. He was resolute in his decision.  
  
Faramir had never felt frustration like this in his entire life. His suffering at the disagreements between Legolas and Gimli were as nothing compared to this. A sardonic smile flashed across his lips as he considered the sheer improbability that the elf and dwarf had ever become friends. Raising his hands in a gesture of restraint Faramir tried to speak above the din, "Please, good friends. Bickering and fighting amongst each other only aids our enemy. Please, return to your seats so that we might discuss this." But his words were to no avail.  
  
A young dwarf with fiery hair and beard had walked over to the elven delegation and was waving his axe in the air. A sneer spread across Thranduil's lips as one of his elves moved forward to meet him, sword in hand. The soldiers of Ithilien's army looked amused, and many seemed to be discussing the finer points of wielding an axe versus a sword.  
  
Faramir had now gone beyond mere anger. He flashed a look at Danethil and instantly the Ranger and his men were moving to the opposite end of the table. It was not his wish to bring arms against his allies, but the current situation called for desperate measures. The dwarf and elf were now circling one another in preparation for an attack. Silently Danethil came up behind the dwarf, and before he knew what had happened the Ranger had taken the axe from out of the unsuspecting dwarf's hands. Seizing the opportunity the elf jumped forward to attack. Danethil had anticipated this, and now wielding both sword and axe he blocked the elf's way, "I do not wish to fight with you, Faidhel, but I cannot allow this." Shocked by the Ranger's sudden involvement the elf did not answer, but after a few moments he nodded in ascension and moved back to once again protect his lord.  
  
Turning around Danethil found the young dwarf whose axe he even now held in his hand, "And Master Zigil, I apologize for surprising you. I will return your axe to you, only please take your seat again so that Prince Faramir may speak." The dwarf's eyes were practically ablaze with anger. The other Dunedain had managed to bring the rest under control, and the room had grown quiet. All eyes were now turned to the dwarf, who realizing this muttered something in Dwarvish and slowly returned to his seat. Danethil turned to face his Prince and bowed, "The floor is again yours, my lord."  
  
Faramir nodded slightly in acknowledgement. He was still angry at the outburst when so much hung in the balance. Staring first at Kolim and then at Thranduil he spoke, "It seems to me that the elves and dwarves at this council would do well to take a lesson from their own kind."  
  
Faramir knew his words would mean nothing to them, but still he paused to let their meaning sink in a little. "When I first came to Ithilien much of this land was laid waste by the evil forces of Sauron, and I knew it would take a great deal of work and cooperation to bring her back to life. King Elessar and I spoke of how we could go about re-building the land, and he suggested I enlist the help of his friends Legolas and Gimli. I had met them and talked with them before, and in truth I thought they were an odd pairing. And when they both agreed to bring some of their people to this land to help in its transformation, I admit I had my doubts. I did not believe the elves and dwarves could work together.  
  
"How wrong I was. Look around you. All that is before you is from the hands of dwarves, elves, and men. What beauty all these races have wrought here in Ithilien was even beyond my wildest dreams. Dwarven walls covered in elven tapestries. Roads laid by dwarven hands. Homes built of Elven ingenuity. And in my realm I witnessed the two working side-by-side, perhaps not always harmoniously, but always for a common goal and especially out of a common love for this land.  
  
Faramir turned his gaze on Thranduil. Somewhere in the back of his head was the knowledge that the elf was tens of thousands of years old and his own life measured only in decades, but that mattered little to the Prince of Ithilien. If the King of the Wood-elves chose to allow ancient grudges to confuse the issue at hand then, by the Valar, Faramir would make him see reason. "You, Thranduil, who remained in Middle-earth when there were so many reasons for you to leave, how can you not understand your son's love for this land? He has heard the call of the sea, and yet he remains, striving to put right all that the powers of Mordor tried to destroy. Would you see all his hard work laid waste and his sacrifices be for naught because of prejudices borne of ancient deeds?"  
  
Sitting straight in his chair Thranduil's face betrayed nothing of what was going on in the elf's mind. His eyes, though, seemed to soften a little. It was a small gesture, but more than Faramir could have hoped for as far as a reaction to his words. The prince continued to stare in silence at the elven king refusing to back down from his position. After some uncomfortable moments Thranduil dipped his head and conceded the Prince's point. Faramir knew that was all he would get from the stubborn elf.  
  
Faramir now directed his attention to the dwarves. None but Kolim would meet his gaze, but Faramir knew that if he had verbally reprimanded a King of the elves then the dwarves must also receive harsh words. "You of the race of Durin, do you wish to see all your beautiful works destroyed? Is all that you have worked on for the last twenty years of so little value that you would throw it all away because of words spoke in anger? Gimli also has sacrificed much for this land for you are all aware that his heart dwells in the Glittering Caves of Aglarond, yet he has delayed the deepest desires of his heart for the greater good of all Ithilien's peoples. You who are of Gimli's own race, do you not see what it is he has worked so hard for? Would you see it all pass away?"  
  
Even Kolim had to turn away from the Prince's fierce gaze.  
  
Faramir's last words echoed off the marble walls of the great hall and then silence descended. Wanting to end this once and for all Ithilien's prince let the silence continue until long after it had become uncomfortable. Finally, he took a deep breath and then exhaled long and low. The Prince of Ithilien had made his presence known, but the Dunadan in him now began to take control again. "I will not deceive you. Without the aid of both the elves and dwarves I do not believe we can win this battle. Our plan for victory is to divide our enemy, but we must think hard on what might befall us if we ourselves are divided."  
  
Faramir drew out his blade and laid it out point first on the table before him. "I go to fight for Ithilien and all the free peoples of Middle-earth. Choose now if you are with us or against us, for there is no other choice." The hall was filled with the sounds of chairs scraping against the floor as the men of Ithilien rose and laid their weapons upon the table, but the elves and dwarves remained seated. Faramir's heart sank in his chest. The desperateness of his last words had not been exaggerated, and the Prince of Ithilien was silently cursing himself for not seeing this possible turn of events before.  
  
Then Kolim slowly stood and placed his axe upon the table, "The dwarves will not stand idly by and watch evil re-take this land or any other land. Tomorrow we march with the men of Ithilien," Kolim turned to King Thranduil and bowed low, "and with the elves." Faramir smiled at the dwarf's gallant nature as he turned to face the King of Eryn Lasgalen.  
  
The elven king slowly rose from his chair, a proud look upon his face. Slowly he removed his sword from its sheath and laid it on the table, "The elves will also march forth tomorrow at sunrise, and I will ride alongside Prince Faramir and Master Kolim."  
  
As the rest of the elves added their weapons to the table and rose to join the others Faramir finally allowed himself a great sigh of relief. His army was once again whole and intact. The Prince wondered grimly how long it would stay that way. "Then we are united," his voice resonated throughout the large room. "Unfortunately, time dictates that our plans must be solidified while en route to the Pass of Poros. Today and tonight all must be prepared for the long march and battle ahead.  
  
"We are the first defense for all of the western lands. We must not fail. We will not fail. Long has Gondor fought against evil, and it has prevailed, and so shall we." The Prince reached out to grab the hilt of his sword then thrust its blade high in the air, "Long live Ithilien! Long live Gondor! Long live the West!" In one voice all shouted back Faramir's battle cry and its echoes were heard throughout the citadel. 


	12. Revelations

A/N Again, my sincerest apologies for the length of time it took me to update. I will tell all of you that my job can at times be extremely demanding, and so it was last week. Unfortunately, this occupation can be so mentally demanding at times that I simply cannot write a thing when I come home. In these times, I am afraid I will be slow in updating, and so I humbly beg your forgiveness.  
  
One other quick note – The scene with Gimli is extremely short, I know. I would have liked to have done more with it, but I think it would require a much better understanding of Sindarin than I currently possess. (My God, I am in awe of Thundera Tiger's abilities in writing elvish! Truly! If you have not read her story Land of Light and Shadows you really should – but be prepared to be sick at her command of Legolas's language!) Anyway, because I apparently need to attend graduate level classes in the elvish languages at the Fan Fiction University of Middle-Earth, I had to leave Gimli's part very small. All you Gimli fans please forgive me. I assure you the dwarf is going to get his revenge very soon.  
  
Finally, thank you all so much for your reviews. I appreciate them more than you know!  
  
Disclaimer: all characters, settings, and elvish language are strictly from the mind of J.R.R. Tolkien or inspired by him.  
  
Chapter XII  
  
Revelations  
  
Gimli lay on his stomach on the cold, hard stone floor his head propped to one side on folded arms. The position was very uncomfortable, but the dwarf had managed to nod off for a few hours. Outside the sun was just rising over the gray land of Mordor, but it was only Gimli's dwarven senses that told him this. Inside his room things changed little with no window and only a single torch to provide light.  
  
Only moments before he had been awakened by the sound of the door to the room being opened. There was always a change of his guard at dawn so Gimli continued to feign sleep not wanting another confrontation with the elves just yet. But both elves had remained in the room and were now speaking in hushed tones. Gimli kept his breaths in a slow even rhythm but strained to hear what they were saying. With a thrill he realized they were speaking in Sindarin, the only elvish language the dwarf understood very well, but the thrill soon changed to horror as the full realization of what the were speaking of came to him.  
  
………………………………………………………………………………………………………………  
  
  
  
The Ephel Duath loomed up on all sides of the company. The entire mountain range was a mass of impassable cliffs and rock faces with few paths winding through its peaks and steep valleys that could be traversed by man or elf. It was for this very reason that Boromir had been unable to find adequate shelter for the company while they waited for Legolas to wake. They were a mere 200 feet from the path which led to Cirith Ungol and hidden only by a sharp outcrop of the nearby mountainside. They could not be seen from the road, but if they were being hunted, as Boromir suspected, they could easily be found. However, both Andru and Firith had kept watch on the nearby road, and no one had passed since the company had discovered Legolas and Serewen at the foot of the long stairs.  
  
They had found the two elves nearly five hours ago, and now the winter sun was setting in the west casting long shadows everywhere from the surrounding jagged peaks. They had taken a meal at noon, and then Boromir had ordered all those not on watch to take some rest as they could. Whatever lay ahead of the company, Boromir was certain sleep would be greatly needed.  
  
Tolmoth rested near to Legolas. Boromir had noted the Dunadan woke from his slumber once every half hour to check on the elf's progress, but each time he completed his examination the Ranger would merely glance at the crown prince of Ithilien and shake his head. Legolas would wake in his own time, and there was nothing any of them could do to hasten his recovery. In truth, however, this was not first on Boromir's list of concerns. It was the elf with the dark hair who lay near the opening of their hiding place that had occupied the majority of his thoughts.  
  
He and Aldaluin had questioned her several times on what had taken place since her capture. Her story had not changed, but each time she had related it Boromir grew more and more certain that she was indeed hiding the truth. Little could be done, however, until Legolas woke and could relate his story, and so Boromir had contented himself by keeping a constant eye on her. He would not give her any opportunity to disappear while the company rested.  
  
Legolas moaned softly and stirred in his sleep. Instantly, Tolmoth was at his side. He was quickly joined by Aldaluin. As was the custom of elves, the captain of Legolas's guard hid his emotions under years of training and practice, but Boromir knew something of elves, having lived amongst them all of his life. The long stares at the unconscious prince and his constant interrogation of Tolmoth as to Legolas's current condition gave him away, and Boromir knew that Aldaluin suffered greatly to see his leader in such a state.  
  
Quiet as the Dunedain and elves were the rest of the camp was quickly awakened by the sudden activity, and most had drifted toward where the elf- prince lay. Boromir grunted as he stood, muscles still sore from being seated on the stone of the mountains for some time. Out of his habit for the past few hours he glanced briefly to where Serewen was sleeping, and then blinked in surprise. The elf was no longer there. Quickly Boromir checked the faces of those who had surrounded Legolas, but she was not among them. In one single motion Boromir grabbed his sword off the ground and fastened it around his waist. Without a word to the rest of the company he ran after the missing elf.  
  
Behind them lay a sheer cliff wall blocking any possible escape route to the south. On his left was the way back to the stone steps, but Firith kept watch back that way and would have seen Serewen coming. The only other possible route was the steep hillside leading down into the valley below. Quickly he scanned the land below him. Thankfully there were few trees in this barren land in which Serewen could have easily hidden from his view. The terrain was rocky and very steep, almost too difficult for one to navigate, but this was an elf, Boromir reminded himself, and she might find the land difficult to navigate but not impossible.  
  
Boromir was about to turn around and ask Firith if she had passed his way when out of the corner of his eye he caught movement. It had come from near a large boulder some 200 feet below him. Without a moment's hesitation the young warrior was running down the hillside towards the boulder. The steep, rocky slope proved more difficult than he had imagined, and it was only the fact that his feet spent little time in contact with the ground that prevented him from slipping and falling. In moments he rounded the corner of the boulder.  
  
The slim form of Serewen was now some one hundred feet away from him. She was heading towards a great shoulder of the mountain. If she was aware of his pursuit she did not show it. Beyond the boulder the land leveled out somewhat, and Boromir increased his speed. She rounded the shoulder with Boromir less than twenty feet behind her. She had to have heard him approaching by now, but the young man could ill afford to slow down and so he rounded the mountain at top speed.  
  
He realized his mistake almost immediately but it was too late. Previously hidden from view Boromir now desperately tried to stop himself as he approached the edge of a small cliff. On his right he caught the form of Serewen where she had stood out of his path. Desperately one hand reached out to grasp a gnarled tree root sticking out of the dirt as his feet skidded out into nothingness. His arm felt as if it would be torn from his body as his momentum carried him forward, but the son of Faramir held fast. His shoulder felt as if a hot poker had been thrust into it. Quickly he reached his left hand up to take the root before his right arm gave way.  
  
A cold, cruel voice laughed at him from above. Serewen was standing over him with her sword point in his face. ""Tis a shame that you should die so easily, young one. We had such plans for you." Swiftly she brought up her sword for the killing blow, and Boromir had seconds to consider whether to let go of the branch or accept the blade. Only vaguely did he become aware that Serewen's sword had dropped to the ground in front of him. The clattering of the sword on stone soon brought him out of his reverie, and he realized that Serewen was falling forward, towards him. His injured arm caught her around the waist as she nearly tumbled over the edge into the valley below. Boromir let out a sharp cry as his shoulder protested the action.  
  
Within seconds Firith stood over him and lifted Serewen's body off of Boromir. Serewen was not dead, however. Her shoulder had been pierced by one of Firith's arrows, and that had knocked her off balance. Firith quickly pulled his hunting knife and held it to her throat while his other hand quickly rid her of all her weaponry.  
  
With only one truly useful arm Boromir struggled to pull his legs up to the ledge. He was eye level with the stone shelf, and his one arm cried out against the strain. With one final heave he was able to get his right leg up. He was working on the other leg when he felt strong hands grasp his tunic and yank him up to safety. Boromir lay on the ground gasping for air. Pain ripped through his shoulder, and the young man was pretty sure it was dislocated. Glancing to his left he saw Firith standing over Serewen with his knife.  
  
When he had sufficiently caught his breath Boromir said to the elf, "Thank you, Firith. I believe I owe you my life."  
  
"I only did what you would have done in my stead. Think nothing of it."  
  
Boromir nodded in acknowledgement. Elves were often times exceedingly poor at receiving gratitude. "How did you find us?"  
  
"I was keeping guard on the road when I heard the sound as of a wild horse running heedlessly through scrub brush. When I went to investigate I saw you running down the mountainside. I did not think this was normal behavior, and so I followed you. It is lucky that I did." The elf's mouth betrayed nothing of his feelings, but even in the fading light Boromir could discern the smug look in his eyes.  
  
"It is lucky I sound like a wild horse running heedlessly through scrub brush as well,' Boromir added a hint of laughter in his tone.  
  
"Yes, that is lucky as well." Firith's eyes stated he had taken Boromir's self-deprecating humor as a mere fact to be acknowledged.  
  
"Right," Boromir smiled. The young man struggled to his feet. "Let us take Serewen back to the camp. Undoubtedly, the others are wondering where we are."  
  
"Indeed we are," came the deep voice of Aldaluin who was now standing at the edge of the great shoulder of rock. His eyes glanced menacingly at Serewen. "I am glad that you are both alive. However, I believe Tolmoth will need to look at that shoulder, Your Highness."  
  
"Yes," said Boromir through clenched teeth, "I think it has come out of it's joint."  
  
"Then let us go," said Aldaluin, "Firith let the Daequendi walk before us."  
  
Firith none-too-gently urged Serewen forward. The dark-haired elf grimaced in pain at the arrow that still protruded from her shoulder, but she began to slowly trudge up the mountainside. For his part, Boromir thought that he might feel better if he could only rip the arm from his body, but though he was young he was still a Dunadan, and so he bore his wound without sound or complaint. By the time they returned to their makeshift camp the sun had set behind the mountains, and the light was quickly fading.  
  
Boromir was surprised to see Legolas sitting upright by the fire eating some of the soup Tolmoth had prepared from the dried vegetables and herbs he kept in his pack. It never ceased to amaze Boromir how quickly the First-born recuperated. He was fairly certain his shoulder would trouble him for several weeks.  
  
Tolmoth rose as they entered the camp, and ignoring Serewen and the arrow she wore went straightway to Boromir to look at his shoulder. Boromir stood while the elder Dunadan probed the sore flesh. "Gerath, come hither." The Ranger obeyed the command instantly. "Place your shoulder here." Tolmoth positioned Gerath so that his shoulder rested just above Boromir's Right shoulder blade. "Good, now hold fast." In one swift motion Tolmoth drove his two hands at Boromir's injured shoulder. With a sickening pop the arm repositioned itself. Boromir stumbled as blinding pain raced from his shoulder through every nerve of his entire body. Somehow he stifled the scream that threatened to rip out of his lungs and give away their position to any that might be standing within earshot.  
  
"Go sit by the fire, my Prince. I have Athelas steeping in some water there. It will help to lessen the pain." Boromir did not argue, but went immediately to the fire and began taking long draughts of the perfumed air. After a few minutes the pain had indeed subsided considerably, and Boromir relaxed somewhat.  
  
As the effects of the Athelas took hold Boromir slowly became aware that he was seated next to Legolas who was looking at him with concern in his eyes. Boromir laughed softly, "It is ironic that you, who have lain unconscious now for many hours because of your hurts, should look upon me and my suffering with such pity."  
  
Legolas smiled, "My wounds are already well on their way to being healed. And though my head still feels as though I have been listening to dwarven singing for days on end, I have known the pain of a dislocated shoulder. I would not wish to trade places with you." Boromir grunted in a noncommittal fashion, but in truth the elf-prince's words touched his youthful pride. To bear pain that even an elf would complain of was saying something.  
  
Looking across the fire he could see Serewen. Aldaluin and Firith had bound both her hands and legs, and they had fitted her with a gag. Tolmoth had removed the arrow and was now binding the wound. When he had finished he removed her gag to give her a mouthful of water, then replacing it he left her to her own thoughts and pain. She lay now in the darkness far away from the others, but he could feel the hatred in her eyes as it bore into the members of their company. So strong was it that Boromir wondered how he had not sensed it before.  
  
"She eluded me as well, and I spent more time in her presence than you." Legolas conceded as he too stared at the traitor in their midst.  
  
Boromir nodded, but the elf's confession made him feel little better about the situation. If he was to someday rule Ithilien he must be a better judge of a person than this. "What happened to you Legolas?"  
  
Legolas grimaced and a dark shadow seemed to come over him for a moment, then just as swiftly it passed, "She took me from behind while we were engaged in the battle in the Morgul Valley last night." Boromir blinked in surprise – Had it really only been one day since then? Somehow it felt as if that fight had taken place ages ago. "I was higher up on the hillside than all of you, and so in the heat of battle my abduction went unnoticed. She had only two orcs as her guard, and we easily slipped away up the Ringbearer's trail."  
  
"Did she say aught of what her intentions are? Or what the intentions of the Daequendi are?"  
  
Legolas did not speak for a moment, but only stared at their captive. His gray eyes seemed to bore into her head searching for something. At last he spoke, "She said many things to me, some of which I do not wish to discuss for they are of a personal nature and do not affect our quest. In her own words she wishes vengeance upon my father for the death of her father and brothers."  
  
Boromir stared at Legolas in disbelief. "Is her accusation true?"  
  
Legolas shook his head, but did not break eye contact with Serewen. "I know not the answer to that question. If you had asked me such a thing even yesterday I would have had no doubts as to the falseness of her claim, but now I am not so sure." The others of their company had now gathered around the fire and were listening to Legolas's tale. "She claims that her name is Morwen, and that in the time of the First Age, when my father served the great King Elu Thingol, he murdered all of her family. She also claims that she and her father have murdered the children of Thranduil before in retribution."  
  
The Prince's words were shocking to all, but the Dunedain were more than amazed when the last statement brought gasps of shock from the elves in the company. Even the eyes of Aldaluin had grown wide. Legolas finally broke eye contact with Daequendi in their midst and stared almost sadly into the fire. Lalaith rose and going around to stand behind the elf-prince she placed her hand on his shoulder. "Surely, she has told you lies to serve her own ends, sire. She would seek to turn you against your father."  
  
Legolas did not speak, but continued to stare into the flames of their campfire. It was Aldaluin who spoke next, "Nay, Lalaith, I believe that Serewen . . . Morwen speaks the truth."  
  
Boromir was thoroughly confused by the conversation. He wondered if the Athelas was affecting his thoughts, but decided against it at the confused looks of all the Dunedain. "Aldaluin, forgive me, but I think we Rangers are amiss somehow. What is it that Morwen said which you all find so disturbing?"  
  
Aldaluin turned his steel gray eyes on Boromir. Even with his years of experience with elves the captain's stare made him feel as if he had been stripped and laid bare for all to see his innermost thoughts. "As far as any of the Silvan folk know, Thranduil has but one child – Legolas Greenleaf. But if this Morwen's words are true then our King has other children which have preceded him to the land beyond the western sea."  
  
Legolas's attention was now focused on Aldaluin. "What do you know of this, Aldaluin? For you have been in the service of my father longer than most."  
  
Aldaluin shook his head, "I know nothing for certain, my prince, but I met your father in Lindon many years ago, and even then there was a sadness about him which none would speak of. But it was your mother, Elessea, who housed the sorrow of all the elves. Even when we took our leave of Lindon and journeyed to Greenwood the Great, where your father founded his kingdom, still your mother mourned. None of the elves of the Woodland Realm knew what sadness lay upon their queen. In the days leading up to your birth your father appointed me to be your guardian, and so I was there even as you came into this world, and I saw your mother as she beheld you for the first time. Such happiness there was, but also much sadness. And then she held you close, and I heard her whisper to you, 'We will wait for you, little one." And as you well know, it was then that she departed this world for the Undying Lands.  
  
"At the time I did not question the 'we' that she had uttered thinking only it was some slip of the tongue as she gave up this world, but in that I now believe I was mistaken." Small tears, like little diamonds, shimmered from the corners of Legolas's eyes. Aldaluin knelt before his prince, "Forgive me, sire. I did not wish to remind you of such pain, but I felt it was necessary. And also, please know, I held nothing back from you. It was only at this moment that I realized the truth."  
  
Legolas stared down at the elf, his guardian, and Boromir beheld the Prince of Mirkwood in all his glory. "You need not ask forgiveness, Aldaluin. You have been ever faithful to me, and even now when you know your words sting my heart you provide me with truth. Would that all men had such a guardian." Aldaluin bowed his head before his Prince, then rose and took his guarded stance over his lord. His face had once again become a mask concealing all his thoughts.  
  
An uncomfortable silence lay upon the group following the emotional speeches of the two elves. Finally, Boromir cleared his throat, "Night has fallen, and we must make haste if we are to rescue Gimli. The question at hand is what to do with Serewen? Should we leave her here with a guard until our mission is complete, or should we bring her with us to the tower of Cirith Ungol?"  
  
"We must bring her with us," Legolas answered with resolve. "We cannot leave anyone to guard her in this realm. There is no place to hide, and orcs or others of these Daequendi could attack them. I will not leave one of our company in such peril. Besides, when we arrive at Cirith Ungol we may need every hand to defeat our enemy and rescue Gimli."  
  
All nodded in agreement. Boromir gave the order for them to break camp, and within minutes they were ascending the first of the long stairways leading to Shelob's Lair. Serewen, whose feet had been unbound, was being guarded by Firith and walked in the middle of the group. Legolas climbed the steps directly in front of Boromir with seeming ease, but the crown prince of Ithilien suspected the elf's head throbbed as much as his own shoulder. Boromir laughed to himself. He wondered if the enemy could see them coming would they prepare for battle or just simply laugh. 


	13. The Rescue of Gimli

A/N: Thanks again for all the wonderful reviews. So, as promised, Legolas and Gimli are finally reunited. Thank you all for your patience in this matter.  
  
Disclaimer: all characters, settings, and elvish language are strictly from the mind of J.R.R. Tolkien or inspired by him.  
  
Chapter XIII  
  
The Rescue of Gimli  
  
"We shall rest here, briefly." Boromir hoped that the relief he felt was not betrayed by the tone of his voice. In truth, he had never so gladly accepted respite before in his life. His shoulder felt as if it were on fire, and it had grown stiff from the cold, winter wind that had blown continuously during the evening's journey. His thighs felt as if they were on fire from the long climb. Boromir estimated that the stairway had been about a mile long and their continued journey up the long passage some five miles. They were making good time, but something told the young prince that they should not tarry. The sense of urgency he had been feeling was growing, and Boromir could no longer ignore it for his own anxiety.  
  
Grimacing, Boromir kicked his left foot back and grabbed hold of it with his hand. He pulled firmly trying to loosen the leg muscles so abused with the long climb. Looking around he saw the Dunedain had followed his lead, and he noted that he was not the only one who gritted his teeth against cramped muscles. The elves, on the other hand, seemed unaffected by the night's journey. They stood or crouched without regard to physical woes, if they even suffered any, and their eyes betrayed nothing but serenity and calmness. There were times when the Crown Prince of Ithilien truly loathed the elven race.  
  
There were, however, two elves who did not wear the peaceful masks of their comrades. Serewen, or Morwen as she claimed, stared at the others with such hatred that Boromir almost felt her stare as palpable and threatening. What the depths of her malice and hatred were, he could not guess. Never before had he encountered such evil, and the thought was both exciting and frightening to him. Legolas also did not seem at ease. There was a great sadness behind his eyes and the look of one who has been betrayed. He had not spoken a word since they had begun their journey up the long staircase, and no one, not even the other elves, had dared to interrupt his thoughts.  
  
Not for the first time that evening Boromir considered what the elf- prince might be thinking within the confines of his own mind. It was very clear to Boromir that Serewen's revelations to the prince had been a surprise, but perhaps such surprises about Thranduil's past had not been wholly unlooked for. Boromir treasured every moment he had with his father, although in truth he was not precisely looking forward to whatever punishment would be meted out for his disobedience. But between he and his father there was a bond and an intimacy that none, save his mother, came close to sharing. It was what held families together, and it was especially important between fathers and sons. Boromir had begun to suspect that Thranduil had not been a very open father.  
  
Many aspects of Legolas's personality now became apparent in this new light. For one, the prince was a meticulous perfectionist. Everything he did was done with precision and grace, and in the extremely rare instance that he erred the elf would spend days dwelling on the oversight and berating himself for it. Perhaps this was the result of a son striving to prove to an unforthcoming father that he was worthy of love and praise, which he likely rarely received. And might this not explain the streak of melancholy that was ever-present in the elf's demeanor?  
  
Though Thranduil and his son were of Sindarin decent, the elves of Eryn Lasgalen were Silvan elves. In Edhil-e-Londe there was singing both day and night, and the joyous sounds of elven laughter could be heard at all times. The Silvan elves were mischievous and they spent as much time and effort beautifying Ithilien as they did at play. Even in Eryn Lasgalen, where Boromir had once visited as a child, there were grand parties thrown almost every night with feasting, dancing, and singing. Yet, rare were the times Boromir had heard the fair voice of Legolas raised in song, and even at the elven festivals and parties in Ithilien he had participated only in the most rudimentary fashion. He was not so dour and stern as Aldaluin, the Captain of his guard, but there was ever a remoteness about him, something that separated him not only from Boromir and the men of Ithilien but from his own people as well.  
  
"My Lord." Boromir turned sharply to face the captain of his guard. He had been so caught up in his own musings that he had not noticed Tolmoth approach. "My Lord, we have not yet made any plans for when we reach the Tower of Cirith Ungol."  
  
Boromir nodded. The enemy would be expecting them, and if there were any possibility of arriving at Cirith Ungol unnoticed the company must decide upon that course now. "What say you, Tolmoth? Have you any ideas?"  
  
"Aye, Lord, though I hold little hope that we will come to Gimli's aid unnoticed," said Tolmoth. "Obviously we must approach through Shelob's Lair, and that is dangerous enough for we are still uncertain if she yet lives. But her lair is only a part of the underground orc tunnels below the tower. Clearly the Daequendi have allied themselves with orcs, and perhaps others of the dark lord's servants as we saw in the Morgul Valley below. Once we enter those tunnels we may come upon orcs too numerous for our small group to handle. Yet, I believe the maze of tunnels may give us aid.  
  
"After the war King Elessar and Prince Faramir ordered that the Morannon, Minas Morgul, and the Tower of Cirith Ungol all be rid of the foul creatures who inhabited them. I was in command of those who went to Cirith Ungol. The maze of tunnels there were nearly impossible to navigate at first, and the orcs had the upper hand in the battle. Often times they would circle around behind and take us at unawares. I lost many men and good friends in the dark places under Cirith Ungol. But my hardship may prove to be our good fortune. Though it has been nigh on 18 years since I was last in that place I am certain I can guide us through seldom used tunnels and perhaps bring us to the tower unnoticed."  
  
"Why was the Tower of Cirith Ungol left unguarded after it had been rid of its foul inhabitants?" asked Aldaluin.  
  
Tolmoth shook his head, "It would require too many men to properly and safely guard such a place, and hands were more desperately needed elsewhere. The Prince did not doubt that the tower would become inhabited again, but neither he nor the King could have imagined such a foe."  
  
"Then Tolmoth you shall be our guide once we enter Shelob's Lair," said Boromir. "Let us hope that the great spider has found her rest, or at least is still too busy licking her wounds to notice us."  
  
Firith pulled an arrow from his quiver and checked its fletching, "The elves who abided in Mirkwood know how to deal with such creatures. She will not find easy prey, if she happens upon us."  
  
Boromir smiled. Firith and Lalaith were never lacking in all the assuredness and boldness of their race, and they never hesitated to voice such feelings. They did much to lift the spirits of the entire company. "So, we have a plan to reach the tower, but what then. You know the inside of the tower as well, Tolmoth, think you that we can move about without notice?"  
  
"The tower will prove more difficult than the tunnels, I think. We will enter the tower by the Under-Gate, the only entrance from the orc tunnels beneath. The entrance is most likely guarded, and if we cannot take the guards quickly and quietly then we will have to face all that dwell above." Lalaith and Firith were grinning at one another again, and Boromir was certain they felt they could take the guards before they could raise the alarm. "Once inside we must search each level for the dwarf, of which there are three. This will take time, and there is great danger of being discovered. There is only one staircase leading between levels, and if there are many abiding in the tower then it will be difficult to use it without being seen. Furthermore, each time we search a room there is the chance of stumbling across our enemy. I can guide us, but the way will prove difficult I think."  
  
Boromir sighed, "Then at the under-gate only four of us shall continue into the tower to search for the dwarf. A smaller group can search through the tower with less chance of being seen. The others will remain at the gate and keep guard over Serewen. I and Tolmoth will search for the dwarf with Legolas and an elf of his choosing." The other Rangers were too well disciplined to say anything, but he was certain that none approved of being left behind.  
  
All eyes had turned to Legolas, who had said nothing during their discussion. The elf stirred slightly, and Boromir was certain Legolas's mind had been elsewhere. Seconds ticked by, and then the elf-Prince spoke, "Yes, I shall take Aldaluin with me. The Prince is correct. More would hinder our plans rather than help."  
  
"Then we are agreed," Boromir spoke. "Let us continue on then. For good or ill, our journey is now almost at its end."  
  
……………………………………………………………………………………………………………..  
  
Almost immediately the company had encountered the second set of stairs along their path. These steps wound back and forth along a sloping wall of rock, and were not as steep as the first set. Boromir's legs still ached and burned with each step, but it was bearable, and even if it was not the Prince had no other choice.  
  
The dawn was still two hours away as they continued their ascent up the sheer rock face. The only light was the thumbnail moon that was rising into the night sky. Boromir hoped they would reach the entrance to Shelob's Lair under cover of darkness, but he knew it would be a race to do so. If they were seen from the Tower high above then the enemy would be waiting for them, and then there would be no hope of rescuing Gimli or probably even saving themselves.  
  
Boromir climbed the last few steps of the stairs before they switched back and climbed again in the opposite direction. This last stretch of the staircase had brought them far to the south, and from this point Boromir could see the Morgul Road leading from the pass to Minas Morgul below. Boromir froze at the sight below him. A sharp intake of breath alerted the others that something was amiss. Legolas, who was directly behind him quickly moved to his side to see what it was that the crown prince of Ithilien was staring at. Far below them, an army was on the move. The eerie glow of the Morgul-road, which led from Cirith Ungol to Minas Morgul, highlighted the shadowy forms of soldiers as they snaked their way down the road towards the west.  
  
Boromir turned to Legolas, "How many would say there are?"  
  
"No more than 500. A very small force, if they are going to war."  
  
Boromir nodded. He turned around to face the others. The company had halted in silence, awaiting news. Boromir motioned them forward so that he would not have to speak overly loud. "There is an army threading their way down the Morgul-road below us. Legolas estimates their numbers to be only 500, but they are heading towards Minas Morgul. What think you, Tolmoth?"  
  
"I cannot say for certain. With so small a umber, they cannot mean to make war on Ithilien or Gondor. Perhaps they are only reassigning troops to Minas Morgul for some strategic purpose."  
  
"Or perhaps it is 500 of these Daequendi. That would be a more serious foe than 500 orcs," said Aldaluin.  
  
"Nay," Legolas had now turned to face the others, "those are orcs below us, but they are being led by 15 of the Daequendi."  
  
"Perhaps they are aware of us coming and are moving the prisoner," spoke Tolmoth.  
  
Legolas seemed to look far away towards Cirith Ungol. After a moment he turned back to the group, "No, I can sense that Gimli is still above us. He is not among those who go to Minas Morgul."  
  
At last Boromir spoke, "If they go to war, then they will be well met by the men and elves of Gondor. So small a contingent, even with 15 Daequendi, will be easily defeated. If they are up to some other devilry, then there is little we can do at the moment. Come, we must hurry if we wish to reach the cover of the tunnels before the sun rises." Boromir forced aching legs to move as he took the steps two at a time. The other followed soundlessly behind him.  
  
………………………………………………………………………………………………………………  
  
A great wall of rock loomed up before the company. High above, where mountain met sky, the dim, gray light of early dawn could be seen, silhouetting the great cliff. Tolmoth and Andru moved a great boulder aside, and found torches, flint, and tinder underneath left by the Rangers and soldiers who had come to this place 18 years earlier. Each member of the company was given a torch to carry, but Tolmoth lit only the one he was to bear. He needed light to guide them in the eternal midnight of Shelob's Lair, but light could attract the enemy and so they would make do with a single light. Placing some flint and tinder in his pack Tolmoth rose and prepared to lead them into the tunnels.  
  
Though Shelob's fate was uncertain the stench of her being still permeated the underground passageways built by the orcs. Boromir thought he might be sick for the reek, which hung in the air, and so he began to gulp draughts of air through his mouth. The Prince was somewhat heartened to see that Tolmoth's mouth hung open as he too fought the effects of the sickening smell.  
  
The floor of the tunnels was smooth and the company made their way quickly and easily through the passageway. The path still rose before them, but the slope was gentler for which Boromir was very thankful. The tunnel rose straight before them, and they traveled for some time without coming across any other passages. Occasionally long strands of webs woven long ago by Shelob hung down into the path, the thick cords still sticky to the touch. The air hung thick and oppressive, and Boromir had to fight the urge to turn back for the cool, clean air outside.  
  
It occurred to him that this had been the Ringbearer's path twenty years ago, and he and his servant had passed through it in the dark with only the despicable Gollum as their guide. Boromir glanced at Tolmoth and the torch he bore. Now, more than ever, he was grateful for that single source of light. In the impenetrable darkness of this place, Boromir was uncertain how far he could have gone. Perhaps hobbits were made of stronger stuff than men.  
  
Suddenly Boromir became aware of a tunnel that forked off to their right. Tolmoth did not hesitate, but continued up the main path. It seemed quite some time before there was another fork in the path, this one heading off to their left, but still Tolmoth continued forward. More long minutes ticked by, and then another path forked off to the left. This one Tolmoth followed. Soon afterwards he forked left again, and shortly after he took a path to their right. On and on the company wound through the orc tunnels under Cirith Ungol, and soon even the elves were uncertain of the path they had taken or how they might ever find their way out again.  
  
They made their way in silence through the vast maze of orc tunnels. At one point they passed a tunnel on their right from which the stench of Shelob seemed to emanate. This they passed by quickly, and if any detected that their pace had quickened from that place none let on. Boromir had lost all track of time and direction, but the weariness he felt told him that they had spent many hours beneath the earth. Finally, however, Tolmoth halted and pointed up ahead to where it seemed the tunnel suddenly ended, blocked by the stone of the mountain itself.  
  
Tolmoth motioned to Legolas, Firith, and Lalaith. The elf-prince and Firith wielded their bows and set arrows to their strings. Lalaith held five daggers within her left hand and a sixth lay in her right. Tolmoth motioned the others to stand off to the side but next to the wall. Boromir loosened his sword within its scabbard and then drew it. Aldaluin and the other Rangers did the same. Legolas and Firith drew their bows and waited.  
  
Placing his hand near a small boulder that lay on the ground Tolmoth smothered the torch with some water. Immediately all were thrown into utter darkness. Boromir's breath came loud to his ears, and he could hear the others around him as well. He felt the darkness encroaching upon him like an evil spirit, stretching out its long arms to steal away his spark of life. Suddenly a part of the rock wall began to swing inwards sending shafts of light into the dark tunnel. The door seemed to move agonizingly slowly.  
  
Suddenly Boromir heard the sounds of the bows of Legolas and Firith loosing their arrows. Boromir saw their shafts as they sped through the doorway followed quickly by one of Lalaith's daggers. A strangled cry from within told the Prince that at least one had hit its mark. One more arrow flew through the open doorway, and then all went silent.  
  
The form of Aldaluin could soon be seen in the light of the open doorway, and the others moved to join him. Looking into the hallway Boromir saw the forms of four orcs laying at the foot of a long stair. Three held the shafts of arrows within their throats, and one of Lalaith's daggers protruded from the neck of the fourth. The elves had given none of the orcs a chance to shout for help. Once inside the doorway, Tolmoth motioned for Legolas, Aldaluin, and Boromir to follow him as he proceeded cautiously up the stairway, while the other four began removing the bodies of the orcs to the darkened tunnel and binding the feet of Serewen.  
  
The stairway traveled around in right angles, ever upward into the heart of the tower. After four turns of the stair they found the first door leading from the stairway. With weapons at the ready, Tolmoth opened the door quickly then jumped out of the way. A long tunnel ran out before them. Many doors could be seen lining the hall and a dimly lit window at the end, but no other tunnels branching off. Tolmoth shook his head and closed the door. Boromir guessed that the captain had reasoned that Gimli would have guards posted wherever they were keeping him, and so dismissed the empty hallway. The company again made their way up the stairs.  
  
From somewhere up above a door slammed, and the sound of many feet could be heard coming down the staircase. Instantly the four ran back to the door they had just encountered. Quickly they entered into the deserted hall and closed the door behind them. The voices drew closer, and Tolmoth motioned them into a nearby room.  
  
The room was small and covered in thick, gray dust. Good, thought Boromir, it appears this room is unused, and we will likely not be disturbed by the owners of those voices from here. Legolas stood at the door and listened as the voices drew closer. Tolmoth's caution in moving them from the open hallway to the room proved well founded as all heard the sound of the outer door being opened. The guttural voices of orcs became louder as they approached and then passed by the door concealing Boromir and the others.  
  
The sounds dissipated, and soon Legolas opened the door to look down the hallway in the direction of the orc voices. After a few moments he drew in his head, and closed the door. In an almost imperceptible whisper he spoke, "The orcs turned left when the reached the window at the far end of the hall." Legolas turned his gaze on Tolmoth, "Should we follow them?"  
  
Tolmoth shook his head, "That way leads to the battlements on the first level of the Tower. I do not think they would keep Gimli there. I think we must go higher up within the tower." Tolmoth opened the door, and after checking for any signs of the enemy he led the others out and back to the main stairway.  
  
Boromir was beginning to curse the very idea of steps and climbing when they reached another door. Again, Tolmoth opened the door while Legolas stood with arrow set to his bow, drawn and ready. This time they were not disappointed. Boromir could see nothing of the hallway as he waited at the side with Tolmoth and Aldaluin, but as soon as the door had been opened Legolas had let his arrow fly, followed closely by a second. From somewhere down the long hall an orc began yelling, but he was given only moments before a third arrow cut off his cries.  
  
Instantly Legolas was running down the hallway, Aldaluin and Tolmoth in tow. Boromir waited for a moment, listening for sounds that the orc's cries had been heard. He heard no sound from above or below on the stairs, and so he turned, closed the door behind them, and followed the others. Three dead orcs lay on the floor of the hall near a door that Legolas was quickly approaching. When the arrived Tolmoth threw the door open as Legolas prepared another arrow. The door opened, and Legolas and the other three remained motionless. They did not enter, nor did Legolas release his arrow.  
  
Boromir came to a stop some twenty feet from Legolas and the others. A voice from within the room spoke low and threateningly, "Please come in, if you wish to end this dwarf's pathetic life. And by all mean, Legolas, keep your arrows aimed at me." Slowly Legolas dropped his bow, but he did not remove the arrow.  
  
"Shoot him, Legolas! He will kill me either way if you…" the dwarf's gruff voice was suddenly strangled off as the hand of his captor squeezed tighter around his neck.  
  
Boromir thought quickly. Clearly one of the Daequendi now held Gimli, likely with a blade to his neck. The others could do nothing in case that might mean Gimli should be killed at the elf's hands, but he was as of yet unaware of Boromir's presence. His mind raced furiously, searching for anyway he might distract the elf just long enough for Legolas to use one of his arrows. Reaching down he pulled a dagger out of his boot. He wore it as a last measure in case he was ever parted from his sword, but in truth he did not possess a talent for using the short blades.  
  
"Now lay your weapons on the ground and kick them in here." Slowly the three complied with Legolas's Bow, and the swords of Aldaluin and Tolmoth clattering as they were kicked into the chamber. "Good. Now back away down the hall, but stay within my sight."  
  
Boromir swore to himself and quickly ducked inside the nearest doorway. Pressing one ear to the door he listened. It was some time before he heard the dark elf speak again this time the voice sounded closer. He must be in the hall. "Get in the room. All of you." He was imprisoning them in Gimli's cell until he could get help. Boromir knew that as soon as the door closed on Legolas Gimli's life would be forfeit. Stealing himself he opened the door and jumped into the hallway, the dagger leaving his hand before he even landed. But Boromir's injured shoulder betrayed him, and the knife flew wide hitting the doorway and clattering uselessly to the floor. The distraction had been enough, however.  
  
Gimli kicked hard at the knee of his captor. The elf cried out in pain at the same time a small dagger imbedded itself in the hand which held the knife to Gimli's throat. The knife fell from the elf's hand and Gimli dropped to his knees. Instantly, the other three were upon the Daequendi and had soon wrestled him to the ground. Legolas pulled one of his long knives from their sheath upon his back and raised it to strike, but before the killing blow could be leveled the dwarf cried out, "Stay!"  
  
Legolas stopped himself, knife poised in mid-air. Without explanation the dwarf came to stand above the elf who was still struggling against his captors. Somehow in the confusion Gimli had laid hands on the dagger that Boromir had thrown. "So, you were going to slit my throat were you." The elf looked up at Gimli with absolute terror in his eyes. Grasping the hilt of the knife firmly in hand the dwarf leaned over the elf, "I think not!" In a single, fluid motion the knife ripped through the exposed neck of the Daequendi. Blood spewed forth from the gaping wound covering everyone in crimson spray. The dwarf rose with a grim, and oddly sad look on his face.  
  
"Come," Tolmoth said. "We are certain to be discovered if we do not leave. Come." Everyone followed Tolmoth as he ran to the doorway and out to the stairway.  
  
Legolas could not help but stare at the dwarf as they ran. The beard, which the dwarf had so proudly worn, was reduced to an inch or two. The elf could scarcely believe his eyes, and he wished more than anything to ask the dwarf what had befallen him. As if sensing the elf's thoughts Gimli turned to his friend and said, "Say nothing, Master Elf. If you value that long, golden hair of yours, then I would remain silent if I were you." For the first time in many days, Legolas smiled. It was good to have his friend back again. But the smile quickly faded from the elf's lips. Directly in front of them the door leading to the stairway had opened and orcs began pouring into the hallway. 


	14. The Pass of Poros

A/N I don't know why, but this chapter was very difficult to write. I had written about a third of it when I decided to scrap all of it and start over. Then I got stuck at one point, and couldn't seem to get unstuck. All in all, this was a difficult one to write. As this is my first fanfic, I would really love to know if this happens to any of you. I know there is such thing as writer's block, but this was different. I knew what I wanted to write, I just couldn't seem to write it. Anyway, here it is. I think I like the outcome of all my struggling. Oh, and one last thing, if anyone knows what a group of wild boars would be called please let me know. "Group" just doesn't sound right to me. Thanks.  
  
Disclaimer: all characters, settings, and elvish language are strictly from the mind of J.R.R. Tolkien or inspired by him.  
  
Chapter XIV  
  
The Pass of Poros  
  
Faramir stared out across the dale. Campfires twinkled throughout the expanse and spilled out into the plains beyond except at the very center of the broad valley. Here ran the River Poros, as yet only a small stream and easily forded. The ripples of water glinted in the light of the half moon as the water ran playfully over unseen rocks on the way to its eventual merging with the great Anduin and finally the sea. The land was cast in the moon's ethereal glow, and Faramir could not help but take in the beauty of the land before him. He had never ventured so far to the south in his own realm.  
  
In fact, the river was the border between Ithilien and Harondor, the southernmost fife of Gondor, and since Faramir was standing on the mountainside south of the river he was in fact no longer in his own realm. This, however, mattered little to the prince of Ithilien. The land of Harondor was claimed by both Gondor and the men of Harad. In times of peace the land served as a buffer zone between the two countries, and at times when the Haradrim deemed they would take the land for themselves it was a place of war. This time, however, the men of Gondor had come here to fight the Easterlings and orcs out of Mordor, not the men of the South. Not that Faramir had not considered what role the Southrons might have been playing in this attack, but the spies he and King Elessar had sent into Harad had reported no preparations for war.  
  
A warm breeze laden with moisture from the Bay of Belfalas off to the west blew through Faramir's hair and he turned into the wind allowing the sweet air to flow into him. There was just a hint of salt in it. The scent turned his thoughts from the land, and Faramir thought of Legolas. Perhaps it was best that the elf was not here. The prince of Ithilien had never seen such a sadness in another's eyes as when Legolas spoke of the sea. The elf-prince had come near to its waters during the battle at Pelargir, and Faramir was certain that it was a daily struggle for Legolas to resist its call. His eyes moved to gaze at the elven contingent on the north side of the river. Every year more and more elves left Ithilien for the Grey Havens far to the north and west because of this longing for the sea. Faramir hoped that being so near the Bay of Belfalas would not hurry the elves who had come to this battle towards the inevitable. He desperately needed their help, but what would their aid cost them?  
  
There was little movement in the various camps. They had managed the 100 miles from Amon Galen in just four days, a very hard and demanding march. Many of the men and dwarves had taken to their tents for much needed rest, and even Thranduil's people seemed to be asleep, lying under the stars lost in the dreams of the elves. Instinctively, Faramir searched the Ephel Duath for any signs of the scouts he and Thranduil had sent out, but from this distance and in the weak light he could discern nothing. He only hoped his men would be allowed their rest for the evening and so better prepare for the impending battle.  
  
Far to the north a shooting star streaked across the sky. Faramir followed its trail down over the Ephel Duath. Instantly his thoughts were turned to Eowyn and Boromir. It was rare that Faramir was separated from either his wife or son and never in such imminent danger. On the morning they had departed from Amon Galen he had turned back to look upon his city once more and he had espied Eowyn. She stood on the topmost balcony of Minas Mallen, her golden hair shining in the newly risen sun. So perfect was that final vision that Faramir almost faltered in his duty. It seemed to him that the vision was one given by the gods as a final token to take with him as he passed from this world into whatever awaits mortals beyond death. Not for the first or last time the Prince of Ithilien considered whether he would behold the countenance of Eowyn or Boromir ever again.  
  
At least he was comforted in the knowledge that Eowyn was safe. The fate of his son was as of yet unknown, and even if he should survive this battle there was no assurance that Boromir would live through his own undertaking. Anger began to well up within Faramir, but just as soon as it had come it passed. He was long past being angry with his son. He wanted only to hold him again and hear the deep, rumbling voice that was so much like that of his namesake. Faramir sighed. Somewhere within the deep places of his soul the emptiness made its presence known. The wound one suffers from losing a brother can never be fully healed. It can be masked and buried deep within, but it will endure, awaiting a time when one's guard is down the wound will resurface, festering and bleeding openly. Faramir had suffered at the loss of Boromir, his brother, but he did not think he possessed the strength to bear the loss of Boromir, his son.  
  
"He lives yet, Prince of Ithilien. Of this I am certain."  
  
Faramir turned to face the King of Eryn Lasgalen, "I was not aware that the heightened senses of the elves could be used for such things."  
  
Thranduil smiled, and Faramir realized it was the first time since his arrival and even in all the previous times he had met the King that he had ever seen a genuine smile upon his beautiful face. "They cannot, but there are other ways in which I might deduce if Boromir yet lives. I have eyes, and though they are the far-seeing kind of my race, I need not such grace to deduce that you are a resourceful and noble man. There are not many who would find it easy to berate one of the Firstborn for rash judgment, much less one who has lived for more than 30,000 years." Faramir opened his mouth to speak, but the King raised his hand to silence him, "You need not apologize, Prince Faramir. Your words were wise and justified. Unlike many of my race, I am aware that great age can lead to stubbornness and even intolerance."  
  
Faramir nodded his head in understanding, but he found it difficult to hold steady in Thranduil's steely gaze. "And so," the King continued, "a man of your worth would likely raise his son to be of the same ilk. What I have observed of your son would say so as well."  
  
"You have me at in a bit of a dilemma, your highness. Your kind words concerning my own character seem exaggerated and undeserved, but where my son is concerned I would whole-heartedly agree." Faramir laughed and was surprised that Thranduil joined him.  
  
"Yes, we are all quite proud where our children are concerned, are we not?" The question had been rhetorical, yet Faramir nodded in agreement. "And we still see them so even in light of their recent … shall we say … lapses in judgment."  
  
"Yes," Faramir snorted, "lapses in judgment, indeed. But I find that the more I contemplate Boromir's decision to aid Legolas in his search for Gimli the more I think I should have anticipated it. He was ever a willful and stubborn child, and these traits seem not to have been lessened by his years."  
  
Thranduil gave a rich, hearty laugh, "Willful and stubborn? It could not compare to that of Legolas Greenleaf." Thranduil's eyes took on a veiled look, and Faramir realized he was reliving some memory from long ago, "Many years ago, when Legolas had seen but twenty years, there was a royal boar hunt. The boars of my realm are notoriously dangerous. Even the most seasoned of warriors take great care when hunting these creatures. When they charge you must be ready with a well-aimed arrow otherwise you would be knocked to the ground and likely impaled on their long tusks. Legolas begged to be allowed to join the hunt. Looking back on that day I should have allowed him to accompany me, but I was always overly protective of my youngest son so I denied him this request.  
  
"On the third day of the hunt we had come across a small sounder of boars. They were watching their young, which made them all the more dangerous. As was the way of a boar hunt, once the group was discovered we would spread out in a wide circle, surrounding them, and then slowly move inwards. The boars would become aware of our presence and would charge, and that's when we would loose our arrows. I felt the presence of my brethren as the circle began to tighten. Suddenly, off to my right a rather large boar initiated its attack. By right the elf next to me had the first shot. I heard the bow as the arrow was loosed, and watched as it hit its mark. But the shot was not aimed well and only took the boar in the shoulder. It stumbled, then rose and continued forward towards the offending elf. That is when I descried the figure of Legolas as he climbed into a nearby tree to escape the angered boar. I came closer only to find the boar sitting at the foot of the tree snorting and pawing at the ground enraged, and Legolas perched in its branches staring back at the animal. Apparently, in his haste to escape, he had dropped his bow upon the earth." Thranduil laughed heartily at this memory of his son, "I should have been very angry with him, but the position he was in was so preposterous I could barely contain my laughter. Besides, the humiliation of being found thus was enough punishment."  
  
Faramir laughed along with the King of the woodland elves, though it was difficult to imagine Legolas in such a situation. He did not doubt that the elf-prince would be horrified that his father had shared that story. He would have to remember to relate it to Gimli when the opportunity arose. "Yes, I suppose that all children are willful and disobedient at times, but when they are your own they seem all the more so."  
  
"Agreed," Thranduil replied, "and yet we would not truly wish them otherwise. I am angry with Legolas for leaving because I know the great danger he faces, and I fear for his safety. Yet, in his situation I would have done the same. I could not leave a friend to suffer torture and possibly death if I had any way to stop it." The king sighed, "I seem ever caught between being a father and a king where my son is concerned. I fear for him, I am proud of him, I am angry with him, and yet I understand his decision."  
  
Faramir nodded, "Yes, I feel the same concoction of emotions. And then there is the danger we must face." Faramir's hand strayed to his sword, and his eyes sought the head of the vale once again. His heart misgave him. Something was not right, but he could not see it.  
  
"You are having doubts about our campaign?" Thranduil prodded, seeing the look on the prince's face.  
  
Faramir turned to face the king once again, "Yes, but I do not know why. Something is amiss here."  
  
Thranduil's face darkened, "I have felt this as well, but I too am unable to discover its source."  
  
Man and elf continued to stare out across the encampment, saying nothing but both struggling to find the root of their uneasiness. They remained silent for some time until Thranduil at last spoke, "One of our scouts is returning. He is in a great hurry. Let us go and meet him." Faramir nodded and king and prince descended the gentle slope together.  
  
As they approached the banks of the river, Faramir became aware of an elf running out of the vale towards them. Faramir knew him, as he was one of the elves of Edhil-e-londe. He stopped in front of them and took a moment to catch his breath. For an elf to be in such a state meant that he had been pushing himself overly hard. "What news, Cirin?" Faramir asked when the elf appeared to be recovering.  
  
Cirin bowed first to Thranduil and then to Faramir, "The enemy approaches, my lords. They will be here ere the sun climbs above the Ephel Duath." Inwardly Faramir swore, his men would have little rest this evening.  
  
"Can you guess at their numbers?" Faramir asked, knowing the answer.  
  
"Nay, your highness. They are walking five abreast through the pass and the line continued until it passed around the mountains and from my sight."  
  
"Who of their warriors will we encounter first?" the Prince of Ithilien pressed the elf for more information.  
  
"Orcs," Cirin practically spat the word, "They come with their swords, but few archers."  
  
"Good," Faramir nodded, "that will aid our cause. You have done well, Cirin."  
  
"Come," Thranduil nodded to the other elf, "accompany me back to our camp. We must wake the others and prepare for the assault." Thranduil turned and looked at Faramir, "If all went as planned the kings of Gondor and Rohan will be here in two days. Until then I wish you good fortune in battle. We will meet again, Prince of Ithilien. There is still the matter of deciding proper punishment for our sons when they return. I would take your counsel on this matter."  
  
Faramir smiled, "And I, yours." Thranduil nodded to the prince and then he and Cirin turned away to make for the camp of the elves.  
  
………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….  
  
The gray light of dawn silhouetted the mountains against the sky. For once, Faramir was thankful for the presence of the Ephel Duath. They were facing east, towards the vale where their enemy would soon emerge. If not for the large mountains in front of them the men, elves, and dwarves of Ithilien would be blinded by the rising sun. The archers would be especially disadvantaged by the light, and the archers were critical to his plan.  
  
Sitting atop his horse Faramir looked out across the soon-to-be battlefield. All remnants of the camp had been removed. Before him the majority of his men were spread across the plain from the mountains to the river. Across the Poros he could see Thranduil's elves and Kolim's dwarves had done the same. There were barely enough bodies to cover the distance, but this mattered little. They were the bait, and once the enemy had been drawn out into the vale the cavalry would ride in. Faramir could see the horses and their riders at the shoulders of the mountains, out of view of anyone standing in the vale. The prince would be joining the riders of Ithilien soon to lead them in their charge when the time came.  
  
At the head of the vale was a small contingent of elves, dwarves, and men. When the time came for the cavalry to ride, the enemy in the vale must be cut off from the army still approaching from the pass. This was the responsibility of the archers hidden on the shoulders of the mountains that formed the vale, but the others would take care of any who were able to pass through the barrage of arrows. And, if at all possible, they could collect the spent arrows and return them to the archers to replenish their stores. Faramir doubted if there would be any time for that, but the possibility was there.  
  
The archers were so well hid that Faramir could not see any of them unless they chose to reveal themselves. Somewhere on the northern slope of the vale was hid Thranduil. He had wished to lead his cavalry into battle as Faramir would, but the archers were more sorely needed. Thranduil's skill with the bow was bested only by his own son, and so the King of Eryn Lasgalen had agreed to stand with the elven archers.  
  
All was in readiness.  
  
Off to his left a red banner was raised by an elf standing some way up on the mountainside. It was the signal that the enemy had rounded the last bend in the pass before coming to the mouth of the vale. Only minutes remained before they would enter the wide valley where Faramir and his army waited. The same red banner was raised on his own side of the river, and he could see and feel the men as they tensed in anticipation of the coming battle. Faramir pulled at the reins and urged his horse towards the other members of the cavalry.  
  
Silence had descended upon the battlefield. The sky was now blue behind the Ephel Duath heralding the imminent arrival of the fiery globe. The minutes seem to tick by agonizingly slowly, and Faramir was agitated by the wait and by the inability to see what was occurring. Above him, on the mountainside, stood the bannerman with a blue banner now at his side. The unmistakable sounds of orc voices as they cried out in their guttural and unlovely tones could soon be heard, and then Faramir saw the bannerman raise the blue banner. Danethil's cry of "Ithilien!" could be heard and was quickly picked up by others who followed him into battle.  
  
If the moments before the battle had seemed excruciatingly long then this wait was an eternity. The sounds of battle rang through the air, and Faramir wanted only to join them in their fight. His feelings were mirrored in the faces of his men, and even the horses danced anxiously, eager to join the fray. Faramir watched as the bannerman picked up the green banner from the ground. The Prince of Ithilien drew his sword. The sounds of his men following suit echoed behind him. Even as the bannerman began to wave the green banner high Faramir kicked his horse into a gallop and he sped his way into the vale.  
  
The scene before him was just as he had expected. Danethil and his men were retreating back out of the vale and the orcs were following. Above him he heard the sounds of bows loosing arrows and the whistling of shafts as they sped through the air. Swiftly he led the horsemen around the edges of the vale and surrounded the enemy. When he had reached the far side he turned his horse and galloped in towards the heart of the battle.  
  
The orcs were confused by the approach of the horses and were tripping over one another trying to retreat back to the mouth of the vale. Faramir swept his sword down and neatly removed the head of the first orc he encountered. The next orc was impaled from behind as Faramir's horse sped past. Prince and horse were practically bathing in the blood of the enemy as they hewed their way into the center of the vale.  
  
The orcs were becoming thicker and Faramir reined the horse in to do battle with the many orcs that now surrounded him. He could see their wicked grins as they approached and tried to unhorse him. His sword danced through the air as more and more fell to its deadly blade. The horse he sat on reared up and pawed at the air, not liking the smell of the foul creatures. Faramir checked the horse then quickly shifted his blade to his left hand as two orcs charged at him on his left. His sword arced out to parry the blows dealt by the two attackers. With all his strength Faramir sliced downwards managing to bite into the flesh of the nearer orc at his thigh. He screamed out in pain and staggered back, but the other approached quickly and Faramir's blow had left him open to its attack. He raised his sword in an attempt to lessen the blow when the orc fell forward with an arrow protruding from his back.  
  
The other orc had recovered enough to launch another assault, but met with the tip of Faramir's sword before he could level even a single blow. Faramir's right hand shot inside his tunic and gray steel flashed in the morning light as the dagger imbedded itself in the eye socket of the orc who had been stealing up from behind him. Spinning his horse around he fought his way to the side of the nearest rider.  
  
He could see now that the first wave of the attack had been won. The last orcs were falling to the swords of the men of Ithilien, and the archers were keeping the remaining force at bay for the moment. Faramir dismounted and found the orc whose foul head still held the dagger he had thrown. Freeing the blade he wiped it on the orc's garment, and re-sheathed it inside his tunic.  
  
Turning towards his men he shouted, "Kill any orc that you even suspect is not yet dead. We cannot have one of these victims surprising our men. Gather what arrows you can and retreat back to the cover of the mountains!" Faramir stabbed the body of a nearby orc whose hand had been straying to the mace it carried. Few arrows were found since the archers had concentrated on keeping additional forces at bay and not on protecting the cavalry as they attacked Within moments he and the other horsemen were retreating to the shelter of the mountains' shadow to prepare for the next attack. The Prince was heartened to see few bodies of his own men littering the ground. Danethil and his men were marching forward to prepare for the next assault. The captain of the army of Ithilien placed one arm across his chest in salute to his prince. Faramir returned the gesture and then the two moved their separate ways.  
  
One of the horsemen had stopped to retrieve an injured man who lay upon the ground. His arm was hanging at an odd angle, and a great deal of blood was being soaked up by the man's tunic near his shoulder. When they arrived at the their hiding place once more, Faramir dismounted and helped carry the injured man out of the way of the horses. Two other wounded men were positioned against a rock. Looking up Faramir saw the bannerman wave the blue flag, and the prince knew there was no time to properly help these men. He picked the least injured of the three, a man who looked to have taken a sword in the thigh and handed him a small bundle, "In here you will find athelas, tinder and flint, and a thread and needle. Here is a pan for boiling water, if you are able. Do what you can for these men and yourself." Faramir saluted the three men, "You have honored your prince and Ithilien today."  
  
The man with the leg wound saluted back, "Thank you, my Prince. It will be as you say." Faramir nodded then returned to his horse.  
  
As he waited for the signal yet again he contemplated their position. The first attack had gone well, but how long would they be able to continue this? The enemy would eventually discover their strategy and come up with a way to defend against it. And how long could they keep this up before exhaustion set in? These were questions that time alone would be able to answer. As the green banner was once again raised, Faramir launched himself into the battle dreading what time would reveal.  
  
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..  
  
The night had brought little respite for the army of Ithilien. Orcs feared the daylight, and though clearly the leaders of this evil army had managed to force them to fight in the full light of day they were much more fierce after the sun went down. Twice during the night the enemy had managed to break through the opening of the vale despite the efforts of the archers. Faramir and his men as well as the elves and dwarves on the northern bank had rallied both times to push the enemy back into the pass, but it had cost them more lives. If it happened again Faramir was not certain they would be able to push them back again.  
  
Some hope had come to him as he looked towards the Ephel Duath and noticed the blue at their horizon was a shade lighter than the rest of the night sky. Dawn was coming, and if they could hold back this last assault they would have the advantage of daylight. The forces of Gondor and Rohan would be here soon, perhaps even before sunset. They need only hold their ground a bit longer.  
  
Throughout the night the dead and wounded had begun increasing at an alarming rate. Weariness had set in and men were more prone to mistakes. The man who he had given the athelas and other healing tools to had proved to be a good and attentive healer. The athelas was boiling in the pot producing the curative scent, and he had sown up many wounds throughout the day and night. Faramir could only guess that he had collected fuel for the fire despite his wounded leg. It was well that there was such a man to take care of the others. His leg was too sorely wounded for him to be able to retreat effectively, but not so wounded that he could not move about to take care of all the ailing men.  
  
The bannermen on both sides of the river had changed to flaming arrows as night had set in. The arrows had been treated with a chemical that made them burn with a blue or green flame. Faramir watched as the arrow with the green flame flew overhead and out into the plains beyond. Once more he and his horse leapt forward and moved quickly to join the current battle.  
  
The Easterlings had now come with the orcs, and their taller stature made them a greater danger to the riders. Faramir caught the glint of metal out of the corner of his eye and ducked low over his horses back. He felt the small rush of air as the dagger flew by just over his arched back. He saw the blade imbed itself between the shoulders of a nearby orc, and smiled grimly as the creature screamed in agony, arms grasping desperately in an attempt to remove the knife.  
  
Bringing his sword around in a wide arc he clipped the head of an orc who appeared to be attempting to run away. Checking the blade as it swung high into the air again he brought it down on the head of an Easterling who had been battling with one of his riders. The man flashed him a brief smile then turned to take on another attacker. Faramir found himself without foe momentarily and looked up to the opening into the pass to see how their archers were fairing. The enemy still were held at bay, but there seemed to be many of them crowding at the opening.  
  
From out of nowhere an orc came crashing into the prince's leg. Faramir swore and hewed at the miserable creature, cutting the body neatly in two with a single stroke. This wave of the battle was nearly over. The few of the enemy who remained were surrounded and would soon be dead. Faramir again turned to look at the opening to the pass. A great number of orcs were issuing from the mouth as a single large contingent. Shields were turned out in all directions to help shield them from the rain of arrows. The few men, elves, and dwarves who remained near the opening were battling but to little avail. As the contingent broke free of the confines of the narrow pass suddenly the orcs on the outside dropped to the ground. In the midst of the large group were some twenty archers who now took aim on the army of Ithilien in the vale below.  
  
"Retreat!" shouted Faramir, but he knew few could hear him above the din. Grasping the reins he began to maneuver his horse behind his men and shouted at them to urge them out of bowshot. Somewhere off to his right he could see the elves and dwarves were doing the same. Quickly his men began to see the danger and the men on horseback were retreating to the open plains as fast as they could. Thankfully the foot soldiers had already retreated and were out of harms way. Seeing now that all were withdrawing, Faramir urged his horse into gallop, but as the horse took the first stride he was thrown to the ground.  
  
Searing heat ran through his upper body, and Faramir cried out in agony. His Dunadan training was screaming for him to move. He knew he had been pierced by an arrow. Others would soon follow to finish the job if he did not run. Pure will drove him forward as he raised himself to his feet. He could see the shaft of the arrow protruding from his left shoulder. The sight reminded him of his brother and the manner of his death. He laughed coldly as he willed his feet to move forward. If such an end was fit for Boromir, then so it would be for the second son of Denethor. The whine of arrows could be heard near him, but he struggled forward to the relative safety of the brush of the mountainside. The archers here would aid him if he could get close enough. Up ahead, one of his men was running towards him. Faramir wanted to call out and tell him to stay, but he found he could not speak. The sun was rising in the eastern sky, but Faramir's vision was growing darker. Something wet dribbled down his cheek. He was too weary to check, but he knew the liquid must be his own blood. A small bush appeared on his right, and Faramir sank to the ground behind its meager shelter. A face appeared above him, and Faramir tried to focus in on its features, "My lord, can you hear me?"  
  
The Prince of Ithilien tried to respond, but still his throat would not make a sound. The face was growing dimmer, and the prince knew blessed unconsciousness was not far away. "Prince Faramir! Can you hear me?!" But blackness had closed around Faramir and he heard no more. 


	15. A Fine Rescue

A/N Thank you to everyone who has been reviewing my story. It is so greatly appreciated. A special thanks to LotRlover, who found me the information on a Sounder of boars! Now, who would have thought THAT would be the name?! The last Chapter (Chapter XIV) has now been updated with the new information.  
  
I hope all of you L/G lovers out there (myself included) will be happy to read more banter between our favorite elf and dwarf. There will be more coming in the near future. My apologies for keeping them apart for so long, but they will be together for the rest of this story.  
  
So, without further adieu, I present to you Chapter XV!!!  
  
Disclaimer: all characters, settings, and elvish language are strictly from the mind of J.R.R. Tolkien or inspired by him.  
  
Chapter XV  
  
A Fine Rescue  
  
  
  
A rush of air told Legolas that one of Tolmoth's knives would soon be biting deeply into orc flesh. Legolas's bow still lay in the chamber where Gimli had been held, but he held his long knife in his hand and had made ready to engage the enemy in battle. "My prince!" Aldaluin's voice rang clearly over the din of the orc horde coming down the hall. Legolas turned to his voice and caught the flash of movement coming towards him. Years of practice with the captain triggered a reflexive response as Legolas's hand shot out to catch the bow in mid-air. He let his momentum continue spinning him back around to face the orcs while one hand reached gracefully overhead and retrieved an arrow from its quiver. By the time he stopped the arrow was notched and ready. The first arrow was launched and sped mercilessly towards the foremost orc, only 20 feet away.  
  
"Back!" shouted Tolmoth. "We must retreat to the ramparts while Legolas holds the enemy at bay!" Legolas sensed the others retreating behind him and began to slowly back away from the approaching orcs. The arrows of Legolas flew fast and true, and the bodies began to pile up slowing the approaching orcs. From behind him Legolas heard Tolmoth calling, "Legolas! Retreat to the stairway, it will be easier to hold them here!" The elf spun at the Dunadan's words and raced for the end of the long hallway. Behind him the sounds of pursuit were clearly heard, and Legolas was grateful that none of the orcs seemed to carry a bow.  
  
Tolmoth and the others turned left at the end of the hallway and disappeared. As Legolas passed through the doorway Tolmoth, who had been standing in wait, threw the door closed and laid the heavy wood bar across the cradles barring the way out. "What purpose does this serve?" Legolas stared at door. "Why would the orcs wish to prevent those from within from leaving?"  
  
The doorway led to a flight of stairs leading down. Tolmoth began to descend them even as he answered Legolas's question. "Do you think orcs served Sauron with loyalty and trust? Nay, my good elf, this citadel served as much to keep the Dark Lord's servants in as to guard his foul land. The doors outside were locked to prevent the orcs from deserting."  
  
Legolas shook his head, "It is no less than what they deserved, but my heart still pities them." The stairs ended in a small room full of weapons and some armor. Legolas grabbed some of the arrows to replenish his dwindling supply. They could see the others standing just inside an open doorway leading out to the battlements. Boromir motioned Legolas forward with a wave of his hand.  
  
"Well, Master elf, this is a fine rescue. It seems your plan for entering the citadel was sound enough. Did you have a plan for our escape, or did you think to leave that in the capable hands of the dwarf?" Gimli smirked at elf-prince.  
  
Legolas grinned back at Gimli. He was reminded of the battle of the Hornburg where, despite Gimli having bested him in the number of orcs slain, he cared only that his best friend had survived the ordeal relatively unharmed. Legolas removed the pack he had slung across his back and pulled a familiar axe from inside. "Here is your axe, my friend. May it feast on orc flesh, and bring us safely from this place." Gimli accepted the weapon gladly, and looked about to speak when Legolas interrupted him, "Although, I wonder if merely the sight of your beardless face will frighten our enemies away." Gimli growled at the elf, and was prepared to retort when Boromir placed his hand upon his arm, silencing him.  
  
The Prince of Ithilien whispered to Legolas and Gimli, "I see only four sentinels keeping guard on the battlements. They do not appear to be aware of our intrusion, or at the least do not feel it concerns them. Can you dispatch with them without any being allowed to raise the alarm?" Legolas and Gimli nodded and the others moved out of their way to give them room to maneuver. Legolas set two arrows to string, and pointed at a pair of orcs standing close to one another off to the left. Gimli nodded and pointed at the guard standing almost directly in front of them, less than ten paces away. Gimli raised his axe. And even as he loosed the haft Legolas let fly his two arrows. The shafts imbedded themselves in the necks of the two orcs and both fell silently to the ground. The blade of Gimli's axe imbedded itself into the back of the third orc with a sickening thud, and even as he fell so did the fourth guard as one more of Legolas's arrows bit deeply into orc flesh.  
  
Seeing that the way was now clear Tolmoth and the others moved out to the open air of the rampart. The Captain of the Dunedain turned to Legolas, "Guard the way back in case the orcs have managed to win through the door." With that the Dunadan strode to where the others were standing. Aldaluin had produced a rope from his pack and now set to work tying it about one of the merlons of the parapet where it met the rock of the mountain itself. As he finished the last of the knots a cry went up from somewhere above.  
  
At Tolmoth's insistence Boromir had descended the rope first followed by the Dunadan himself. Gimli was scrambling over the wall, having retrieved his axe from the orc, even as Aldaluin called to his prince, "Your highness!" Legolas shouldered his bow and ran to where Aldaluin waited. Legolas leapt over the wall, catching the rope to stop himself from falling as he went. Even as he moved over the wall the elf-prince heard the sound of an arrow being loosed and felt the air stir as it flew past his ear. Legolas looked up to where Aldaluin should have been following as he heard more arrows taking flight.  
  
Suddenly Aldaluin's body flew over the edge one arm reaching out for the rope, but his momentum had been too great and he continued out of reach. Legolas reached out and caught the elf by the arm. Aldaluin's momentum nearly managed to tear Legolas's remaining hand from the rope. And again as the Captain of Legolas's guard fell against the stone wall Legolas gripped the rope tightly, but the weight was too much and both elves fell some feet down as the rope slid through the prince's hand. The rope burned as it scraped past the exposed flesh on Legolas's palm until suddenly the weight of Aldaluin lessened and his grip was able to stop his descent. A loud groan rose from below. Legolas looked down and could see that Aldaluin had been able to finally catch the rope himself, lessening his burden on his prince, but also he had slid far enough down to land atop a very disgruntled dwarf, which had also done much to stop their fall.  
  
Quickly, the company made their way to the ground below. As Legolas jumped the last ten feet Tolmoth motioned for them to follow. A quick glance at Aldaluin confirmed that the elf was unhurt. Sensing the prince's look Aldaluin shrugged, "I was left with the choice of jumping or being speared with orc arrows. I chose to jump." Legolas smiled to himself. In some ways the captain of his guard was not all that different from his friend, the dwarf. He was steadfast in his duty to a fault. And the fact that Legolas had saved him from the fall was unimportant, as he had accepted the consequences of falling the forty feet to the hard stone below, regardless.  
  
The group followed Tolmoth as he led them up the path towards the walls of the mountain itself. The trail ended suddenly at the mouth of a large cave. The coarse fibers of Shelob's web still clung to the opening. Tolmoth stopped and turned to the others. "We have no torch to guide our way. I still believe I can navigate the tunnels, but we cannot be sundered from one another. Boromir grab my tunic, and Gimli you take Boromir's tunic, and then Legolas, and Aldaluin." The five formed a close-knit line and when all were linked Tolmoth set off into the darkness of the orc tunnels.  
  
There had been sounds of pursuit as they entered the tunnels, but all sound was lost within. The small company moved slowly as Tolmoth felt his way along the rough walls, counting the side tunnels as they passed them until a sufficient number was reached and he turned. Time held no meaning in the impenetrable darkness, but after they had taken many turns the elves became aware of the sounds of someone or something approaching and the faintest of lights in the distance. Legolas and Aldaluin halted bringing the others up short. Tolmoth, Boromir, and Gimli huddled together with the two elves so that Aldaluin could speak in the faintest of whispers. "Someone approaches."  
  
They remained motionless until even the eyes of Boromir and Tolmoth could see the light approaching. With that little light Tolmoth took them around the last corner they had turned to await the bearer or bearers of the light. The sounds grew, as did the light, and soon the shuffling of many feet could be heard. There could be no doubt that a band of orcs was coming this way.  
  
Slowly and noiselessly Tolmoth, Aldaluin, and Boromir drew their swords even as Gimli removed his axe from its belt loop and Legolas wielded his long knives. The sound of the feet grew nearer and soon even the grunts of the orcs could be heard. Within moments the first orc rounded the corner. One graceful arc of Tolmoth's sword and the creature's head was rolling across the floor of the tunnel. It's body fell lifeless at the Dunadan's feet.  
  
The beheading took the other orcs by surprise and for a few moments the five warriors had the element of surprise on their side. Elves, men, and dwarf formed a tight circle, protecting their rear. Orc bodies fell in vast numbers as Aldaluin, Boromir, and Tolmoth spitted each upon the point of their respective swords. Gimli's axe flashed in the darkness seeking out orc necks, and hewing heads from bodies. Legolas's knives moved with precision and accuracy stabbing through to the heart in one instance while the other slashed a wide gash in the chest of another enemy.  
  
The number of orcs was vast, however, and slowly the small company began to falter. Tolmoth swore as he only just managed to deflect an orc blade. The orc's scimitar flew wide, but not before cutting deeply into the Dunadan's arm. Boromir had taken the brunt of the attack. Two of the foul creatures came upon him at once, and the young man had fallen under their assault. Tolmoth and Gimli had closed ranks to allow the prince to regain his feet only to be pushed back themselves until the prince could rejoin them.  
  
Legolas struggled to wield his knives effectively in such close quarters. The enemy had pressed them hard, and now there was little room to maneuver. The knife in his right hand sliced out and bit deeply into the neck of the orc directly in front of him, but his left arm could barely maneuver past Aldaluin without injuring the elf. The orc standing directly behind Legolas's most recent victim lunged in over the body of his fallen comrade. Thankfully he had no room to wield his weapon either, but vicious teeth bit down hard upon the elf-prince's forearm. Legolas cried out and tried to knock the offending orc in the head with the haft of his knife, but before he could do so the shaft of an arrow imbedded itself in the orc's back. The creature fell screaming at the elf's feet. On his right another orc fell to the ground with a dagger neatly imbedded in its throat.  
  
  
  
Seizing the opportunity Legolas and the others moved outward, gaining much needed room and then dispatched with the remaining orcs. The last orc fell with an arrow protruding from its chest. Legolas stared out across the pile of bodies strewing the cavern floor at Lalaith, Firith, Gerath, and Andru. Lalaith grinned at her prince, "It's a good thing the orcs make so much noise. We were able to find them through this maze of tunnels by sound alone."  
  
"Thank the Valar for the elves and their keen ears," spoke Tolmoth. Then his eyes narrowed and he searched the tunnel they were in, "Where is Serewen?"  
  
"We had to leave her behind," said Firith, a look of pure disgust on his face. "When we heard this rabble of orcs descending from the citadel above she tried to scream through her gag. Andru rendered her unconscious with the haft of his sword, but we had to run quickly to hide from the approaching enemy. We left her as we found her, and of course the orcs must have discovered her when they came to the Under-gate."  
  
Suddenly the elves stared back along the tunnel in the direction of the citadel. Firith turned back to the others, "We are being pursued. We must not tarry." Tolmoth grabbed a nearby torch and then turned back in the direction they had just come. The others followed with weapons at the ready.  
  
Tolmoth took a few turns and quickly came to what Legolas assumed must be the main tunnel. Here he turned right and continued along this path running at a very quick pace. Gimli struggled to keep up, determined to not show weakness in the midst of elves and Dunedain, but days of not eating soon caught up with him and he stumbled and fell. Legolas was immediately at his side. "Are you injured, my friend?"  
  
Gimli snorted as he struggled to his feet, "Nay, I am not injured. Pay no attention, Master elf, I am fine." The others had stopped their progress when the dwarf had fallen, but seeing that he was still fit to continue Tolmoth turned and led them on again. Legolas followed the dwarf closely but not too closely. He did not wish to arouse further anger in his friend, but he did not need elven senses to see that Gimli was struggling to continue. Legolas had noted a large knot on the side of the dwarf's face, but it had not seemed overly bothersome at the time. He stared hard at the rest of Gimli. He was not limping, he seemed merely exhausted and weak. With a start the elf realized the dwarf was suffering from the effects of hunger. Legolas reached inside his pack and pulled out some lembas. The elves had managed to take quite a few cakes for their journey.  
  
In a few short strides Legolas had pulled even with the dwarf and handed him the cake. The dwarf looked at it with not just a little irritation, "No, Legolas. I will take sustenance when we are not in so dire need of speed."  
  
Legolas stared hard at the dwarf, "You will eat this now, Gimli, son of Gloin, before you fall flat on your face and force the rest of us to carry you out of these tunnels. That would slow us down considerably, I would think."  
  
"Think you that Durin's folk are so weak?"  
  
"Weak? No. Stubborn? Yes. Take this waybread, Gimli, or I will…" Legolas did not finish his statement. The dwarf stumbled over a small rock and had indeed fallen flat on his face. With something akin to a growl the dwarf once again raised himself from the ground. Legolas did not attempt to aide him, knowing the offer would not be accepted. Gimli dusted himself off, not looking in Legolas's direction. At last, a single hand shot out towards the elf, palm up. Legolas placed the lembas in Gimli's hand, and the dwarf began to trot after the others all the while removing the leaf wrap from the sweet cake inside. Within moments of eating the dwarf felt strength returning to his limbs, and he quickened his pace to catch up with the others.  
  
The sounds of pursuit echoed behind them, and even the lesser ears of the humans could easily discern the guttural speech and the slapping feet of the orcs. Tolmoth led them on at an excruciating pace, and in time they came to southern exit of the tunnels.  
  
The sun was setting in the west, and a chill wind was blowing from the north, but all were glad to be away from the oppressive orc tunnels and the foul stench of Shelob. As soon as they had emerged Tolmoth motioned for Boromir to follow him. "Move away from the entrance," he said to the others, and then he and Boromir scrambled up the nearby slope of the mountain. A large boulder sat at an impossible angle some twenty feet above the path. Tolmoth and Boromir moved behind it and were lost from view.  
  
The cries of the pursuing orcs grew louder, and Legolas and Firith set arrows to bows and waited for the first to arrive. Lalaith pulled some of her knives and also made ready. The others drew their swords. They did not have to wait long, the first orcs poured from the tunnel mouth only to be instantly felled by the arrows of the two elves. More fell behind them as the daggers of Lalaith flew through the air and found their marks. But the orcs were many, and soon the others were engaging them in close combat. The orcs continued to pour from the tunnel, and threatened to overpower Legolas and the others.  
  
Suddenly a great noise was heard from up on the mountainside, and suddenly the great boulder began to roll down towards the opening of the tunnel. The orcs, suddenly aware of the danger began running away from the giant rock, back into the tunnel. With a gigantic crash the boulder landed hard up against the tunnel opening and stopped there, blocking the entrance. The remaining orcs, seeing that they were now cut off from the others began to flee. Most were easily taken care of by Legolas and the others, and the few who weren't had chosen to throw themselves off a nearby cliff rather than face the cruel weapons of the elves, men, and dwarf.  
  
Andru, Gerath, and Gimli fell to the ground, gasping for breath. Aldaluin and Firith began cleaning their swords on the tunics of some fallen orcs, as Legolas was doing with his long knives. Lalaith was retrieving her daggers from the orcs, as well as collecting arrows for Legolas and Firith. Tolmoth and Boromir returned from the mountainside.  
  
Legolas stared at the Dunadan and his prince, "Do we have luck or foresight to thank for our narrow escape?"  
  
Tolmoth smiled grimly, "In truth, foresight, though not for such a case as this. When the Dunedain first came to Cirith Ungol we knew there were many dangers to face. If there had been need of retreat from the tower then we had planned to take the tunnels to this place. We positioned the boulder to block our escape route from any pursuing enemy if need be. In the years I was at Cirith Ungol we never had need for this device. In which case, perhaps it is our luck that the boulder was still here and did its job well."  
  
Legolas smiled at the captain of Boromir's guard, "Then we should thank the Valar for the Dunedain and their cautious natures." Tolmoth smiled back and bowed to the Prince of Eryn Lasgalen.  
  
"Since we seem to be safe from further pursuit at the moment, I think we should use this time to recover our strength. Food and rest are in order, do you agree, my prince?"  
  
Legolas was nodding his head in agreement when Gimli, who had not risen from his position on the ground, suddenly sat up. "No, we cannot afford to take such rest. I learned something from my captors which I think you will want to hear." The others gathered around the dwarf, curious to hear his story. "The dark elves who held me captive were clearly unaware of my knowledge of Sindarin, for they chose that language with which to converse in my presence. In listening to them I was able to discover that a great army marches on Ithilien far to the south. Even now Faramir and the soldiers of Ithilien have gone to meet them."  
  
"That would be expected, Master dwarf," said Tolmoth, "Why is this news so grave?"  
  
"Because it is meant to be a distraction for their real purpose. Even now a small army marches on Amon Galen. They purpose to capture Princess Eowyn, and with her they have planned some terrible deed. I am not certain what role she would play in all of this, but I am certain it had somewhat to do with another dark lord."  
  
Silence hung thick in the air. All were too shocked to respond to Gimli's news. Finally Aldaluin spoke up, "We witnessed a small army traveling down the Morgul Road." The elf remained silent for a moment gathering his thoughts. "If what you say is true, then the massive army building in Mordor would make sense. They had to know that any attempts to attack Gondor would fail. But in light of this news, their tactic seems sound enough. Still, why is Eowyn of such import?"  
  
No one was able to hazard a guess to Aldaluin's question. Finally, Boromir spoke, "Then we cannot take our rest here. We must hasten back to Amon Galen. If the soldiers have gone to war, then there will be none to defend the city. Our families will be in grave danger, and I for one intend to protect my mother.  
  
"The army must travel the roads to Amon Galen to avoid the forests which would hinder their travel. We nine, however, can cut through the forests and come to Amon Galen by way of the secret entrance we took to escape. But we cannot linger here. We must depart immediately."  
  
"Agreed," said Legolas. The company immediately made ready to depart, and were well on their way down into the Morgul Valley ere the last rays of sun had faded from the sky.  
  
"Well, Master elf," said Gimli from behind the elf-prince, "It seems you and I are ever fated to outrun large groups of orcs. I only hope we have better luck in overtaking them this time."  
  
"As do I, my friend. As do I." 


	16. Sons of Ithilien

A/N - OK, I won't deny it - I suck. Four months without an update is pretty rotten, especially considering the place I left off in. I am truly very sorry.  
  
I am one of those people who does things sporadically. I am very gung ho about something for awhile and then I leave off for awhile. This would be the case here.  
  
If there are any people who were reading my fic before and can find it in their hearts to do so again please accept my apologies. I am suddenly feeling very much inspired (thank you, PuterPatty, you're the best!). So, I will be updating on a regular basis (at least for a while). This fic is nearing its end, and I feel pretty certain that I will finish it before I decide to take any future leaves of absence.  
  
Thank you again, to everyone who has reviewed and inspired me along the way.  
  
Disclaimer: all characters, settings, and elvish language are strictly from the mind of J.R.R. Tolkien or inspired by him.  
  
Chapter XVI  
  
Sons of Ithilien  
  
The orcs were everywhere. Their hideous countenances could be seen approaching from all directions. He drew his sword and prepared to fight. The sword glinted in the sickeningly bright light of the sun. With as much strength as he could muster he swung downward and cut a wide gash in the first body. The orc fell easily to his blade. He had not even tried to defend himself. The sword was lifted and swung towards another of the miserable creations of Morgoth himself, and yet again the orc fell without the slightest acknowledgement of his slayer. Angrily he crashed into the approaching ranks swinging wildly, and still none took heed. No matter how many he killed they continued their relentless march forward.  
  
Finally, out of breath, he ceased his actions. The evil horde kept moving past him either unaware of his presence or uncaring. Gulping down air his mind raced furiously trying to make sense of the situation. The orcs continued to shuffle around him, eyes focused forward. He turned to face the direction the orcs were going. Ahead of him he could discern something vast and black as night. It lay directly in the path of the moving orcs. Logic dictated that he follow the orcs to their destination.  
  
As he moved along with the orcs the object slowly came into focus, and before long he realized it was a high tower. Closer he came, and the details became more and more real. Staircases lined the outer walls and the top was shaped like the bulb of a flower. With shock and horror he realized it resembled Minas Mallen, only the stone was of the deepest black, and the tower itself seem to pull the light from the very air. Near its top a small figure stood, golden hair shining against the Stygian hue.  
  
Nearer he approached and he soon realized that the figure was Eowyn. He cried out to her, but she could not hear him over the din of the orcs congregating at the foot of the tower. There were other figures beside her. Their black robes blended with the dark tower to make them nearly invisible. Only the bright faces of the Daequendi could be discerned. He tried to push his way through the throng of onlookers, but the orcs had crowded close together and would not let him pass.  
  
Suddenly the orcs began to shout louder and were pointing towards the tower. There was a lone man running up the tower steps, sword in hand. It was Boromir, Eowyn's son, and he was rushing up one of the staircases of the tower to rescue his mother. Suddenly, a single dark elf emerged from the tower, sword raised high above his head. Too intent on rescuing his mother Boromir did not notice the dark elf approaching. With all his might he screamed a warning to the young man, but to no avail. A flash of steel and Boromir tumbled over the railing of the staircase and fell to the cold earth some fifty feet below him.  
  
A bile full of rage and panic bubbled up from the pit of his stomach. He was surprised to find his blade in hand, and he lurched forward cutting a path through masses of orc bodies. His enemies fell before him, but his going was slow. It seemed he must have slain a hundred orcs, but still the tower seemed no closer.  
  
A piercing scream from high above caught his attention, and his sword froze in his hand. Without looking he knew the cry had come from Eowyn. Raising his head he could see the Daequendi surrounding her. Her head was thrown back and she appeared to be convulsing. It looked as though a shadow had fallen over her and the elves, but the darkness increased. Where once had stood the golden shieldmaiden and Princess of Ithilien a shadow was growing. It was as if the very light that was within Eowyn was being consumed.  
  
Horrorstruck, he could no longer move his legs, but stood rooted to the ground watching the hideous event. The white, hot sun bore down on him, but the light seemed illusory. It illuminated nothing but the darkness. The sky was now fading as the darkness which was consuming Eowyn stretched out to take even the countenance of the heavens from sight.  
  
The darkness had nearly permeated everything when there came suddenly a bright flash of white light. He covered his eyes, but the explosion had rendered him temporarily blind. The sounds of the orcs had lessened greatly, as even they appeared awed by whatever was happening. Then, from high above he heard a cry. But this was not the cry of the Princess of Ithilien. This cry curdled his blood, and pierced his very soul. It was a sound he had heard several times in his life, but had never thought he should have to endure again - the cry of the Nazgul.  
  
"My Lord, can you hear me?! My Lord?!"  
  
The man's voice seemed far away, but Faramir clung to it as a drowning man to a piece of wood. He fought the heavy shrouds of sleepiness which threatened to retake him. It was not the battle at hand that gave him such strength of will, but the desperation of not returning to that hateful dream. He would rather endure the pain of consciousness, and even possible defeat at the hands of their enemy than return to that hideous vision.  
  
"Prince Faramir, you must awaken!"  
  
Gray eyes fluttered open. He struggled to focus on the face above him. Slowly the face of Caradhon, one of Ithilien's archers, came into view. "My Lord, thank the Valar, you're awake."  
  
Faramir attempted to rise, but was greeted with searing pain in his left shoulder. Gritting his teeth against the pain the prince fell back once again. Memories came flooding back, and he grasped Caradhon with his right arm. "What . . . news?" he managed to hiss through the pain.  
  
"We have beaten them back once more, my Lord. King Thranduil led some of his elves down on horseback, and helped to push the enemy back into the pass. Our archers are holding them for the moment, but the arrows are running low. Danethil is preparing for one last assault, sir, but I do not think we will last the hour."  
  
Faramir groaned. He needed to be out there with his men, his people, not lying as an invalid upon the ground. "You must . . . remove . . . this arrow." His right hand gripped Caradhon's arm strongly, and his eyes carried all the weight of his resolve.  
  
"My Lord! I am no surgeon. If the arrow has pierced an important artery then you would die from loss of blood!"  
  
Faramir gripped the man's arm tighter and took a deep breath, "Our deaths may already be assured. I am willing . . . to take that . . . risk."  
  
The archer looked as if he would protest again, but then looked upon the battlefield below, and changed his mind. "Yes, my lord." Grasping the point of the arrow in his hand, and taking the fletching knife from his belt he gently cut through and slowly unwound the cord holding the steel tip in place. Once removed the archer grasped the shaft firmly in one hand while he pulled at the arrow point with the other. It gave way reluctantly, and all of a sudden so that Faramir's body was rocked backwards when it released. The Prince cried out from the sudden movement.  
  
Caradhon checked the end of the arrow for splinters or anything else which might hinder its removal. Satisfied, he moved to Faramir's back and grasped the fletched end of the arrow firmly in hand. In what seemed to Faramir an excruciatingly long amount of time the archer slowly worked the arrow out of the prince's body. The pain was tremendous, and Faramir cried aloud in his torment. But the thought of his dark dream of Eowyn kept him focused on remaining conscious. One last forceful pull and Caradhon wrenched the arrow from Faramir's shoulder. The Prince screamed, and then let his body sink back to the earth. The pain remained, but it did not compare to having an arrow removed from one's body.  
  
Caradhon examined the wound from behind and in front. "I hope your luck will extend to the battle, sir. There is little blood. It seems the arrow missed anything vital."  
  
"I thank you, Caradhon, for your aid. Now, please, bind my wound quickly."  
  
Caradhon used strips of his own tunic to dress his prince's wound. As soon as this was done, Faramir rose, with the archer's help, to survey the battle below. It was only now that he realized how much his head hurt. Placing a hand on his brow, Faramir felt dried blood flake off. It was not until then that he remembered he had suffered a blow to the head as he fell from his horse. Faramir steadied himself and fought back a wave of nausea.  
  
The field below him was littered with bodies. There were hundreds of orcs strewn across the vale, but there were also the broken bodies of men, elves, and dwarves among them. At the mouth of the pass the bodies of orcs lay piled on top of one another as the arrows of the archers on either side of the River Poros held the enemy at bay, but only just. In all likelihood the orcs and Easterlings were preparing another assault like the one that had provided him with an arrow in his shoulder.  
  
The sun had now risen above the peaks of the Ephel Duath, and was making its way towards its zenith, but the day was still early and King Elessar and his army would not arrive for hours yet. Faramir knew that the enemy could not be allowed to escape the vale into the surrounding countryside. If they did then even King Elessar and King Eomer would find it difficult to fight such a large force.  
  
A determined look crept over the prince's face, "Caradhon, who is the fastest rider amongst the archers?"  
  
"Idhril, sire."  
  
"Find me Idhril, and bid him come to me as fast as the Anduin flows."  
  
Caradhon bowed quickly, then ran off in a crouch up the mountainside. In a matter of minutes he returned with a young man at his side, "This is Idhril, sire."  
  
The boy was so young that Faramir would have been surprised if he were able to sprout a single hair upon his cherubic face. The prince stifled a sigh at the cruelty of his duty, "Idhril, I need you to take a message to King Thranduil. Tell him at the next assault all of the army on the northern bank must move into the vale, as far as they can go. Tell him to reserve only 20 of his archers, and the rest must fight with their blades. At the mouth of the canyon we will make our stand. Do you understand?"  
  
"Yes, sire," Idhril looked somewhat nervous at speaking to his prince, but otherwise he was a mask of determination.  
  
"Good, once you tell him, have his standard bearer wave the red flag with the blue to let us know all is in readiness." Faramir, placed his right hand upon the boy's shoulder, "You're peril is grave, Idhril, but your mission is graver yet. We must get you to a horse."  
  
The Prince of Ithilien turned back to Caradhon; "I thank you for your help, son of Ithilien, now I charge you to select 20 of the best archers. When the bannerman on the north bank waves the red flag with the blue all but those 20 archers must move to the mouth of the canyon and fight with their swords or knives. Those 20 will follow behind them and offer their support. Is that clear?"  
  
"It will be as you command, my lord," Caradhon placed his right arm across his chest then turned to perform his duty.  
  
"Come, Idhril." Faramir led the young man down the mountainside to where the cavalry were waiting.  
  
The prince did not notice the pain of his wounds; instead it was the pain of fulfilling his duty that preoccupied him. He was preparing to take a last stand against the forces out of Mordor, and he knew that he was signing a death warrant for every man, elf, and dwarf who had followed him to this hateful place. His stomach churned at the thought of the wives who would be made husbandless and the children who would be fatherless. The guilt was overwhelming, and the prince nearly stumbled under the weight of it.  
  
The prince's only consolation was that Eowyn would remain, and she possessed more strength than all of the men of Ithilien combined. She would rally what remained of their people together, and help to rebuild Ithilien anew. He offered up a silent prayer that Boromir would return and help her through this gruesome task, but he would not allow himself to even consider the alternative.  
  
Faramir and Idhril mounted one last rise and found themselves overlooking the readying area for Ithilien's cavalry. As the two made their way down into the midst of the horses one of the men spied them and shouted, "Prince Faramir, Prince Faramir! The Prince of Ithilien yet lives!" The others took up the cry, and Faramir removed his sword from its sheath and raised it triumphantly over his head. Peering upwards he saw the bannerman had waved the blue flag, and was preparing to raise the green, signaling the cavalry to advance. Taking the last few steps at a run, Faramir cursed his spinning head as he grasped the reins of the nearest horseman. Just then the others leapt forward crying Faramir's name as they went to engage the enemy one more time.  
  
"I have need of your horse, soldier of Ithilien. Make your way to Danethil and join his men on the ground."  
  
"As you wish, your highness." The man saluted him once, then dismounted and ran towards the awaiting battle.  
  
"Up you go, son," Faramir patted the horses saddle. Idhril climbed deftly onto the horse's back. "Take care, Idhril. Ride low in the saddle. Your message is of the greatest importance."  
  
"Yes, my lord." Faramir slapped the horse on its haunches and the animal burst into a full gallop taking Idhril with him.  
  
Faramir watched the horse as it sped across the open plain, Idhril low in the saddle. He rode the edges of the vale, and Faramir could discern no arrows or any of the enemy that might hinder his progress. The prince was unaware that he was holding his breath until he saw the horse safely ford the Poros and find its way into the safety of the brush of the mountainside. He could barely make out Idhril as he leapt from the horse's back and began to make his way along the far shoulder of the Vale of Poros.  
  
The boy quickly blended into the surrounding countryside and was lost to Faramir's sight. It was not long after that when the cavalry began to return. Faramir motioned for them to gather around him. It was only a few moments before he had gathered the remnants of the cavalry. Faramir noted with some sadness that the number was far fewer than had arrived here the day before.  
  
The prince steeled himself to his emotions and turned indomitable eyes on his men, "Our current method of attack will be unable to hold the enemy at bay much longer. We must fight, and hold them within the canyon until King Elessar and his armies arrive. We must do this, or else all is lost. When the bannerman on the northern shore holds the red flag aloft with the blue -- that is our sign. We will engage the enemy and push them back into the canyon where we will hold them until the armies of Gondor and Rohan arrive, or until the last man has fallen. Our families and our king have need of our lives today, sons of Ithilien, and we will not fail them!" Faramir raised his sword high, "Ithilien will never fall! We will fight, and we will be victorious! Ithilien! Ithilien the Fair!"  
  
The men erupted in a throng of voices shouting and cheering as though they were not all so tired they could fall from their saddles or so injured they knew nothing but pain. Pride welled within Ithilien's prince, and for a moment the guilt, which was now a constant, gave way. One of the riders dismounted and handed the reins to Faramir, "I will go and fight by Danethil's side, my lord. You have greater need of this horse than I."  
  
Faramir nodded, "Thank you, son of Ithilien, I shall treat him as my own. What is his name?"  
  
"Curuthalion, highness."  
  
"I thank you for Curuthalion, soldier of Ithilien, and by the grace of the Valar I hope to return him to you."  
  
The soldier bowed low, placing his right arm across his heart. "By your leave, Prince Faramir?"  
  
"Yes, you may go, soldier, only relay the news I have given you to Danethil. He and his men are not to fall back this time. Go and fight, and keep Ithilien within your heart." The soldier turned on his heel and then ran to find Danethil.  
  
Faramir gave Curuthalion's reins to another rider and turned back to where the wounded were. He quickly found the man he had placed in charge and went to him. "You have done good work here, but our situation has now become desperate. It may be that soon we will ride to our final battle. Relay to the wounded that any man that wishes to join the battle will not be hindered no matter his injuries, and give a weapon to those who are able to hold a blade. Every man must make his own decision."  
  
The man with the wounded leg showed no outward sign of surprise or fear. He merely saluted his prince and said, "As you wish, your highness," then turned to relay the news. The guilt began to well up once again as Faramir turned to find his newly gotten horse.  
  
Another glance up in the direction of the bannerman said that he was about to raise his blue flag. Faramir peered across the vast expanse to the mountainside where Thranduil and the others were biding their time until the next attack. The bannerman on the north side also held his blue flag at his side, but Faramir noted that the other hand held the red flag. Swift work, Idhril. May your efforts not be in vain.  
  
"If this is to be Ithilien's last stand, then let us make it a glorious one! See the bannerman on the north holds the red flag! Our time is come!"  
  
More voices joined in to cheer as Faramir climbed into his saddle. His head swam, threatening to send him toppling over, but Ithilien's prince fought the dizziness and once atop the horse he sat straight up in the saddle looking every bit a piece of well-wrought iron. If they could give their lives so freely, then he would not fail them as their leader.  
  
From far on the north side of the Poros the bannerman lifted the red and blue flag high above and began waving furiously. With a shout of "Ithilien!" the men charged forward into the vale itself. Faramir's head felt as if it would explode as Curuthalion's feet pounded furiously beneath him, but the Prince maintained his position in the saddle.  
  
Quickly Faramir and his other horsemen sped past Danethil's men. The footsoldiers erupted into cheers as they watched their prince speed by. Faramir swore out loud, thankful that the thundering hooves covered his slip, as he turned his aching head to the side to peer in the direction of the elves and dwarves. From this vantage he could see many elves gracefully riding towards the awaiting enemy. Although they were too far away for Faramir to be certain, he could have sworn that Thranduil himself was riding at their head.  
  
Turning forward he could see orcs and the Easterling men pouring out of the pass into the open vale. He could see no archers among them, and a brief thought flickered in his mind that the number of bowmen was far smaller than would be normal for an army of this size. But there was no time to contemplate the thought. In no time the cavalry had engaged the enemy, and Faramir found himself surrounded by foul creatures of Mordor.  
  
There were so many that Faramir began chopping haphazardly at any motion that caught his eye. The orcs fell easily under his blade, but the evil men were more difficult to bring down. While dueling with one of the Easterlings he barely noticed as a second wielded a dagger aiming for his leg. The prince swung his sword down next to his body to ward off the blow, but had done so with so much strength that he saw the man's hand fly off taking the dagger with it.  
  
Despite their being only 40 in number the archers were able to bring down many of the enemies who were spilling from the mouth of the pass. Slowly, the men on horseback were making their way around to the back of the vale, surrounding the enemy. If the archers could keep up their furious assault within minutes the cavalry would have defeated the forces already in the vale and could then proceed to the pass itself.  
  
Faramir's sword hacked furiously at the orcs surrounding him. Once again the creatures, realizing they were being surrounded, began to panic and forgot to defend themselves. Orcs ran in every direction heedless of the men of Ithilien and their blades. The few Easterlings in the midst were so enraged at the cowardice of their cohorts that they too could be seen slashing the throats of the creatures. Faramir smiled a cruel smile. Even in the great War of the Ring, it was often the enemy itself that brought about its own downfall.  
  
Swinging his sword in a wide arc Faramir made a large gash in the bare chest of the Easterling to his right. The man's eyes were wide in disbelief, but Curuthalion sped past before the man had even fallen. Faramir's eyes searched for another foe, but found only his own men nearby. "To me! To me!" shouted the prince as he urged his horse forward toward the mouth of the pass.  
  
Up ahead he could see Danethil and his men hard at work fending off the enemy. They had moved past the horsemen during the first battle, and were now at the front lines. The terrain became steep and small rocks underfoot caused Curuthalion to slide backwards for every two steps he took. Faramir reined the horse in. Several of the other horsemen rode past him before they realized he had stopped. The rest gathered around him waiting for his instructions.  
  
"We must dismount here! Our horses will only hinder us on the steep slopes! Spread out in a wide arc to the river! We will fence them in and then move inwards!" Faramir shouted to the rest of his men. Without hesitation the men dismounted. Faramir did the same and then slapped Curuthalion on his haunches to send him away from the fight.  
  
The prince grasped his sword tightly in his right hand. His left arm hung limply at his side. Faramir was unsure if he could even feel the injured limb at all anymore. Slowly the men scrambled their way up the slope to help the others. Suddenly a large orc came tumbling down the mountain from up above. Faramir jumped out its way only just in time, but landed on more loose gravel. His feet came out from underneath him and the prince fell forward into the rocky slope and began sliding backwards until rough hands grasped him by his chain mail and hauled him to his feet. "Are you all right, your highness?"  
  
Faramir groaned at the punishment his body had received, but he nodded his head and began climbing upwards once more. Only twenty feet above him the remainder of his army was fighting their way toward the pass. The ground they stood on was a small escarpment where the ground was more level. Faramir fought his way up the steep slope, and had barely enough time to pull himself to the more level ground when he was attacked by one of the Easterlings.  
  
Faramir was still on his knees when the man was unexpectedly directly in front of him. He did not need to look up to know the killing blow was already on its way. Instinctually he rolled to his left keeping the sword out in front of him. He heard the thud where the man's blade had hit the bare earth where he had just been. Swinging his sword around and up he struck the man behind his legs sending him to his knees. Leaving his sword upon the ground he reached inside his left gauntlet and pulled the small dagger from its sheath. The Easterling was trying to rise as the Prince's dagger landed in the side of his neck. The man cried out in pain and his right hand shot up to grasp the hilt of the dagger and pull it away, but Faramir spun around sending his heel into the back of the man's knees. Instantly the Easterling fell forward over the edge of the escarpment and down into the vale below.  
  
Faramir struggled to his feet and grasped the sword he had left on the ground, but before he could rise he was suddenly thrown to the ground. Fire exploded in his head. The prince tried to force unwilling limbs to roll him over, but his body would not cooperate. His mind reeled knowing death was imminent. He flinched as a great weight fell on his body, but with the exception of the throbbing in his head there was no pain. His right arm grasped the edge of a nearby boulder and with his remaining strength he pulled himself from under the heavy weight. Turning over he could now see the orc's body which had pinned him to the ground. Several elven arrows protruded from its back.  
  
Faramir's vision whirled, and his stomach began to churn uncontrollably. Leaning over to his side he vomited what little there was in his belly onto the earth. His ears were ringing. From somewhere up above he could hear someone calling to him, but his mind was unable to concentrate on what they were saying. The ringing in his ears was growing louder making it difficult to concentrate on anything else. Dimly he was aware of someone grabbing him. "Faramir! Prince Faramir can you hear me?"  
  
Faramir struggled to understand. If only the ringing would go away, then maybe he could think straight. But the ringing only grew louder.  
  
"Prince Faramir! Wake up! King Elessar is here! And King Eomer as well! Wake up, my prince! The armies of Gondor and Rohan have arrived!" 


	17. A Warning at Dawn

A/N - OK, here is the seventeenth chapter in its entirety. Thank you all for sticking with me while I was on vacation.  
  
Thank you ever so much for all of the wonderful reviews that were posted. My ego is totally inflated now! ;-)  
  
There are a couple of things I would like to address. Etharei asked for more Aragorn and Eomer, and I assure you the next chapter will have much more of them as will the rest of this story. I am mainly telling this story from the POVs of Faramir, Legolas, and Gimli though so I can't guarantee tons of Aragorn and Eomer, but they will be there for certain. I would also like to let Jevvica, who has been a faithful reviewer of my story from the beginning (thank you!) know that there are going to be a lot more Gimli owies soon! (The next chapter takes us back to Faramir, but after that our favorite dwarf and favorite elf have a big mess to deal with). Also, I would like to thank PuterPatty and Muse of Lucius for the comments on my Mirkwood Tree Sloth comment. PuterPatty, I had not really thought Gimli was referring to the elves as tree sloths, but now that you mention it I find the notion hilarious! Let's assume he was calling the elves tree sloths, eh?  
  
So, anyway, thank you all again for all your kind words and suggestions. They are so motivating! Oh, and one last thing, go check out the trailer for TTT on www.lordoftherings.net. Wow! I always knew TTT was going to make an even better movie than FotR(and that is saying something!), but just from the previews it looks even more amazing than I had imagined!  
  
OK, I'm shutting up now. Enjoy!  
  
Disclaimer: all characters, settings, and elvish language are strictly from the mind of J.R.R. Tolkien or inspired by him.  
  
Chapter XVII  
  
A Warning at Dawn  
  
Boromir, Crown Prince of Ithilien, pulled at the latch on the large marble door. Quietly, and with little effort on his part, the door swung inward revealing the back of a large tapestry. With great care the prince pushed at the large wall-hanging just enough to get a view of the arboretum at the heart of Minas Mallen. The hour was early. There was not even a hint of the dawn on the eastern horizon. No one was likely to be visiting the indoor garden at this hour, but the secret corridor would prove useless if too many of the residents of Minas Mallen knew of its existence. Ranger honed senses scanned the wide room. Nothing stirred within the garden itself or even on the surrounding terraces and stairways that overlooked its bubbling fountain and ever-blooming flowers and greenery.  
  
With great haste Boromir entered the arboretum motioning for the others to follow him. Tolmoth was practically on the prince's heels followed closely by Andru and Gerath. Behind them came Gimli followed closely by Legolas, who was in turn followed closely by Aldaluin, Captain of Legolas's guard. Lalaith and Firith had been dispatched to Edhil-e- londe as the group had approached Amon Galen in the hopes they could bring what elves remained there back to the city before the army of Dark Elves arrived.  
  
Boromir noted that even Legolas and Aldaluin looked somewhat weary and travel-worn, but the several days growth of beard on the Dunedain's faces coupled with the dark circles under eyes red with lack of sleep made them look all the worse. Boromir grimaced at the thought of his own appearance. But it was Gimli who gave him the greatest concern.  
  
The dwarf had traveled the entire way from Cirith Ungol to Amon Galen without the slightest complaint. His captors had treated him cruelly, undoubtedly because they had no intention of allowing him to live once they had their quarry. Lack of sustenance and sleep, as well as the sore muscles and wounds he had received at the hands of the Daequendi, had left him in no condition to travel at all. Yet the obstinate dwarf refused to be left behind even with Lalaith and Firith as guards. Boromir had forced all to journey at great speed in order to return to Amon Galen before the Daequendi army could arrive. Endless miles of running with little rest would have proved too much for most men, dwarves, or even elves in Gimli's condition, but the dwarf ran doggedly when Boromir gave the order never slowing or asking for rest along the way. Boromir was certain the elven waybread gave him the strength to continue on, and he thanked the Valar once more for Aldaluin's foresight to bring some along.  
  
Gimli's eyes looked glazed over and the sheen of sweat that covered his forehead was evident even from Boromir's vantage some ten feet away. His breath came in short, ragged gasps and the dwarf appeared to be unsteady on his feet. Boromir sighed as he saw Legolas lean over to say something to his friend, but Gimli merely shook his head at whatever Legolas had suggested.  
  
"Tolmoth," said Boromir, "you must rally whatever of my father's guard has been left here in the city. Tell them to ready themselves for battle, and that I will address them at dawn near the city gate. Take Gerath and Andru with you."  
  
"Yes, my lord," Tolmoth bowed low then hurried off to the soldiers barracks just outside Minas Mallen flanked by Andru and Gerath.  
  
Boromir turned to the others, "Gimli, you have proven to me once again that though dwarves be smaller in stature than men they carry the strength of ten men. You have done well to return to Amon Galen under such difficult circumstances, but we will need your stout heart and great strength for the coming battle. You must take your rest now while you may."  
  
Gimli's grimace was more than noticeable without the dense beard to cover his face. "I do not require rest, Prince Boromir. I require only my axe and the necks of the enemy. I will not lie in bed being no more useful than a tree sloth of Mirkwood when there is work to be done."  
  
Legolas glared at the dwarf, "I believe your exhaustion has claimed your sanity, my friend. It seems your mind has created fauna from its own imaginings for how else could you name an animal from a place that does not exist?"  
  
Gimli glared back equally hard at the elf, "And you, my good elf, seem to have lost your memory in your old age. True, the land is now called Eryn Lasgalen, but I would think that you would still remember the days when it was referred to as Mirkwood." The dwarf stared defiantly at the irritated elf, "And it was called that for good reason as I recall!"  
  
"Gentlemen!" Boromir raised his voice to command their attention, "I have no time for your arguments. Gimli, you WILL go to rest in your quarters. Legolas, you will accompany the dwarf to his rooms, and you have my permission knock him out cold by whatever means necessary if he refuses to comply." The elf-prince stared intently at Gimli with only the slightest raised eyebrow to indicate he was intrigued by the thought of rendering the dwarf unconscious.  
  
Ignoring the meaningful look Gimli bowed low to Boromir, "Yes, your highness. My apologies."  
  
Legolas also bowed to Boromir, "My apologies as well, your highness. I assure you your orders will be followed word for word." Gimli grunted but turned towards the nearest set of stairs that would take him to his rooms near the top of the great tower.  
  
Legolas had turned to follow when Boromir said, "Legolas, please come to my mother's chambers when you have seen that Gimli has taken to bed." The elf nodded then quickly moved off in the direction Gimli had taken.  
  
Boromir sighed resignedly then turned in the direction of his mother's chambers motioning for Aldaluin to follow. "It seems that those two would argue even as the world crumbled beneath their feet."  
  
Aldaluin shook his head in disbelief, "I do not claim to understand the love the prince holds for the dwarf, but he loves him nevertheless. It seems that Prince Legolas knows happiness only when he is at odds with Gimli and it goes the same with the dwarf. I sometimes worry that when the sea finally calls the prince to return to the Undying Lands that he will insist upon bringing the dwarf with him so that he will have someone to mince words with."  
  
Boromir snorted in disbelief at the Captain's joke, but the seriousness of Aldaluin's face brought him up short. He was now uncertain that the elf had intended the statement as a joke. Come to think of it, he was not sure that he had ever heard Aldaluin even attempt humor of any kind. The remainder of their short journey took place in silence.  
  
The door to his mother's rooms was guarded by two of her own personal guard. Boromir did not know the names of the two women, but their fierce expressions rivaled even Tolmoth in their severity. The façade was broken only slightly as the two guards' eyes widened when they realized it was the crown prince who approached. Almost as an afterthought one of the guards bowed low before him followed quickly by the other. "Your Highness, it is good tidings that you have returned and in good health," said the first guard.  
  
"Good health, yes, but I bring grave news. You must wake the princess immediately and tell her I must speak with her at once."  
  
"Yes, Prince Boromir." The guard had barely completed another bow before she turned and entered Eowyn's rooms. Boromir shifted impatiently waiting for the guard to return. He had almost decided to enter his mother's rooms without permission when the woman returned. Stepping to one side the guard motioned for them to enter, "The princess waits within, your highness." Barely waiting for the guard to move out of the way Boromir walked into his mother's chambers followed closely by Aldaluin.  
  
The Princess's chambers, like the rest of Minas Mallen, were walled with the smooth blue-veined rock sent by the dwarves from the north. The first room was for receiving guests. The walls here were covered in the thick woven tapestries of Eowyn's native Rohan. The wall-hangings depicted various scenes of Rohan's history. One of these was of Eowyn herself standing at the foot of the mountain hall of Edoras wearing the armor she had disguised herself in so that she could join the battle of the Pelennor Fields. The Princess's guard must have stoked the fire in the room for it burned brightly and provided much warmth. Above the mantel of the fireplace was a long sword. It was a replica of the one she had used to slay the King of the Nazgul, crafted by the skill of the Elves of Edhil-e- londe as a gift.  
  
Many long couches made from the wood of the tall pines that grew high up in the Emyn Arnen were placed around the room. Each was covered in cushions filled with goose-down and covered in silk of the palest blue. In the center of the room was a large table. The table was also a gift from the elves and dwarves of Ithilien. The base was of the finest dwarf-craft and made of darkened brass to resemble a large oak tree the broad boughs of which held in place an irregular piece of glass crafted by the elves.  
  
Eowyn stood waiting for them within this receiving room. She had donned one of the silk coats made for her by the elves of Edhil-e-londe. The deep green of the coat contrasted sharply with her golden hair, tied loosely at the neck and thrown over one shoulder. Her blue eyes were heavy, owing to the early hour, but the Princess of Ithilien stared at her only child with a look of concern, irritation, and anger.  
  
Boromir nearly cringed at the look on his mother's face. He almost thought he would rather be fighting the Dark Elves than here facing her wrath. He bowed low, "Mother, I know that there is much you wish to discuss with me, but I bring news that is most grave and requires your immediate attention."  
  
Prince Faramir and Princess Eowyn were known throughout Ithilien, as well as Gondor, for their sagacity, but when it came to matters of their son Eowyn alone dealt with him in like manner. Boromir said a silent prayer that she would do so here. After a few brief moments Eowyn sighed and motioned for him to sit down. Boromir sighed as well, but in the back of his mind he knew that the tongue-lashing and punishment he had escaped would only be deferred and not forgotten.  
  
"What is the matter, Prince Boromir?"  
  
Boromir flinched at the royal title, his mother's use of which was reserved for occasions in which Eowyn felt Boromir's actions were unbecoming of such a title. Aldaluin sat stoically next to him, waiting for him to speak, and offering little in the way of support. Curse all elves, and their annoying ways!  
  
"Mother, we were successful in rescuing Gimli from the Dark Elves. Even now he finds his rest in his rooms in the tower." Eowyn's face darkened. Boromir proceeded hastily, "But after his rescue he told us he had overheard the Daequendi discussing plans for an attack on Amon Galen."  
  
Shades of anger left Eowyn's face quickly and were replaced with shades of concern, "On Amon Galen? Are you certain of this?"  
  
"Gimli was certain, Mother, and we witnessed an army marching down the Morgul Road even as we ascended to Cirith Ungol. We have come as quickly as we could, but the army cannot be far behind. We must prepare for a siege, and soon."  
  
Eowyn rose, her face set determinedly, looking every bit the Shieldmaiden who brought down the King of the Nazgul. "The bridge must be drawn immediately, and preparations made for the defense of the city walls. The women and children of Amon Galen must be called upon to defend their homes."  
  
Boromir went to stand by her side, "I have asked Tolmoth to gather what soldiers remain at the drawbridge at sunrise. We should assemble all the people there as soon as possible."  
  
Aldaluin also rose, "Prince Legolas has sent word to Edhil-e-londe. By the grace of the Valar they will arrive in time, and can be added to our defenses."  
  
Eowyn nodded to Aldaluin then went to the door and opened it. She spoke briefly with the two guards then closed it behind her. "My guard will raise the alarm. All will be gathered at the drawbridge ere sunrise. We should use this time to plan our strategy."  
  
Boromir nodded, "There is something else, Mother, though I do not know what it means. Gimli said that the battle Father had gone to in the south was a deception to remove the fighting men of Amon Galen from their home. He said that the Daequendi are laying siege to Amon Galen in hopes of capturing you."  
  
Eowyn blinked in surprise, "Me? What possible reason could they have for wishing to capture me?"  
  
Aldaluin spoke first, "We know not, your highness, but I suspect evil purpose. These elves," Aldaluin practically spat the word, "have fallen under the shadow. To what ends your person may help them I cannot guess, but I suspect you would be used to renew the force of evil within this world."  
  
Eowyn had been caught off guard by Boromir's revelation, and she was clearly distraught by Aldaluin's words. Yet, within moments she regained her composure, "It matters little what role I might play. My part is to protect Amon Galen, and in doing so I would prevent them from fulfilling their task. We have no time to think on this subject any longer, we must prepare for battle."  
  
"Yes, Princess," Aldaluin bowed.  
  
"Yes, Mother," said Boromir.  
  
"Now, let us think." Eowyn was cut off by the sound of someone knocking on her door.  
  
"It is Legolas," said Boromir as he rose to go answer the door.  
  
When the door was opened Legolas stepped through, "Forgive me, Princess Eowyn, but there was no guard at your door to inform you of my arrival."  
  
"Your apology is not necessary, Prince Legolas. Our situation is dire, and my guard was sent to perform duties of much greater import than guarding my door." The Princess motioned for him to enter. "You have arrived just in time to plan our battle strategy." The elf-prince made his way into the sitting area and at the princess's request took a seat at Aldaluin's side.  
  
Eowyn, Princess of Ithilien and a former Shieldmaiden of the Mark, rose and turned to face the three warriors. ""Tis true that we have naught but the women, children, and elderly of Amon Galen with which to mount our defenses, but I know their strength and their love for this place. They will not falter even though all the forces of evil would come upon us."  
  
The Princess held the gazes of Boromir, Legolas, and Aldaluin and found only purpose and determination. She nodded, satisfied, "Once the drawbridge has been drawn we must only hold them off the walls. Their construction and the moat will make any attempts to scale the walls very difficult."  
  
"Forgive me, Mother, but there is one other entrance to the castle, which I fear the Daequendi have knowledge of now."  
  
Eowyn turned to Boromir and after a few seconds a sardonic smile spread across her lips, "We had wondered, my son, how it was you managed to escape Minas Mallen undetected. I had considered our secret escape route, but thought you would not have revealed that even for such a purpose as rescuing our dear Gimli."  
  
Boromir felt the heat rising in his cheeks at the scarcely hidden admonition, "My apologies, Mother."  
  
Eowyn waved off his apology, "It matters little, Boromir. In truth I found the passageway an affront to my dignity." The princess's eyes narrowed and her lips pursed in disgust, "To think that we might abandon the people of Amon Galen in desperate times." Shaking her head Eowyn returned her gaze to her son's, "How did the passageway come to be discovered?"  
  
Legolas spoke before Boromir, "I am afraid, your highness, that the answer to this is because of serious misjudgment on my part."  
  
"How so, Prince Legolas?"  
  
Legolas took a long breath and released it slowly before beginning. "The elf known as Serewen, whom I believed to have been a victim of these dark elves, was allowed to accompany us to rescue Master Gimli. It was only during the course of our journey that I discovered her true nature. She is in alliance with these Daequendi, and she claims to be called Morwen."  
  
Eowyn's breath caught in her throat at the mention of the name Morwen, but before she could speak Aldaluin said, "Forgive me, my prince," Aldaluin nodded to Legolas then turned toward Eowyn, "but his story is remiss. It was I who allowed Serewen to join our company. I should take the blame for underestimating her motives."  
  
Eowyn sighed with a great deal of exasperation, "Why is it that the elves, the firstborn of Middle-earth, the wisest and oldest of the Children of Illuvatar, can rarely see the forest for the trees?!" Boromir had to stifle a laugh at his mother's pun, "I have known both of you for many years now," the lady raised her hand, "and please do not lecture me on how twenty years seems such a short time to the elves." If Boromir had not known better he would have sworn that the two elves had plastered the most innocent of expressions on their faces with the Princess's words. Eowyn took a deep breath and calmed herself, "Now, I have know the both of you for many years, and I find it nearly impossible to believe that Serewen, or Morwen, gave any indication of her true loyalties until such time as she was discovered. Therefore, your apologies are a waste of time, and I will accept neither of them"  
  
Eowyn's eyes blazed in the warm yellow light of the room. She seemed unaware or did not care that both elves had locked gazes with her. The tension was thick in the air, but finally Legolas bowed his head, "Forgive me, Princess Eowyn, I have allowed my pride to cloud the critical issue." Boromir noticed that he had not admitted that he was wrong to have felt guilty about Serewen, but Eowyn seemed placated by the apology nonetheless.  
  
Aldaluin nodded his head as well, "I too have spoken without thought for our true dilemma. I beg your pardon, Princess."  
  
Eowyn continued to stare at the two elves for some time, but suddenly she nodded and the terse look evaporated from her face, "I am glad that is settled. If I understand things correctly this Serewen was taken through the secret tunnel, and she is now with the Daequendi and is likely to have informed them of the entrance to Minas Mallen?"  
  
Boromir nodded, "Yes, Mother."  
  
"Legolas," the Princess turned to the elf, "You must find Gimli and ask him how we might destroy the tunnel. Find whatever men, or women, and tools you require, and go immediately to seal off the tunnel."  
  
"As you wish, Princess, but the dwarf will not be happy to destroy his hard work." Boromir was certain that the corners of Legolas's mouth were curling ever so slightly upwards into a smile.  
  
Eowyn sighed again, "Then you must remind him, Prince Legolas, of how much he will enjoy building a new tunnel."  
  
"Of course, my lady," the elf's smile was no longer subtle.  
  
"Go now, Prince Legolas. This must be attended to immediately."  
  
Legolas rose and bowed before Eowyn, then turned and strode from the room.  
  
Eowyn turned her gaze on her son and Aldaluin, "Amon Galen is well- protected by her walls, but we cannot rely on them alone. I believe that Hephedra began her soap-making two days ago. The kettles will be full of the lye mixture. Boromir, find the strongest here in Amon Galen and have them begin taking the cauldron's to the wall. Also, after our meeting at sunrise you must take as many people as possible to the quarry. Every boulder that can be carried must be brought to the walls."  
  
"Yes, Mother."  
  
"Captain Aldaluin, by the Valar I pray that we are not forced to fight hand- to-hand, but we must prepare for this happenstance. When we meet near the gate at sunrise you will be given 100 of the best warriors of those remaining here in Amon Galen. You must find them armor and weaponry. Besides that every bow and arrow in the armory will be brought to the wall of Amon Galen."  
  
"It will be done, Princess."  
  
"I and my Shieldmaidens will see to setting our people on the walls and preparing them for the attack." Eowyn's eyes blazed anew with anger. Boromir knew the anger was directed at those that threatened her adopted home. The crown prince shivered. The Daequendi were unprepared for the wrath of the Princess of Ithilien. "Go now, warriors of Ithilien. We will meet again at the great gate."  
  
Even as Boromir and Aldaluin took their leave of the princess she went to the fireplace mantel and retrieved the sword from the wall. Turning she watched as the two left her chambers, anger and conviction evident in her beautiful face. Boromir bowed once more before he departed then followed Aldaluin from the Princess's chambers. He could still feel the heat of her stare as he began to run down the hall.  
  
.......................................  
  
Killaen placed one delicate foot into the stirrup and with a great deal of strength pulled herself into the saddle. Turning to her left she nodded at Hildeth, who was sitting atop her own horse. The other woman nodded back, her eyes intent and serious.  
  
"Upon you I have placed a great burden. Speed is of the essence. You must ride until you reach your destination. Though it burdens my heart to say so, you must ride without regard for your horses. They must perform their duty just as you must." Killaen accepted a roll of parchment, as did Hildeth. She placed the correspondence inside her tunic close to her heart. "Go now! Ride like the wind!"  
  
Killaen kicked at the flanks of the large stallion even as she turned him to exit the stable doors. The cold wind of dawn made her eyes water and numbed her exposed face, but she did not slow the horse. She could sense Hildeth and her horse immediately behind her. The two riders and their horses sped through the streets of Amon Galen, weaving amongst the people of the small town who had already risen to the call of war and were moving toward the city's gate.  
  
Within minutes Killaen had reached the gate and she and her horse sped across the bridge, the bridge that would soon be lifted and prevent her from returning to her home. She dismissed such thoughts from her head and concentrated on the task before her. Crouching low, she urged her horse into a faster gallop. The sensation of the other rider slowly diminished as Hildeth turned to the south. She was now alone.  
  
........................................  
  
Eowyn watched as the two riders departed the city. May the Valar speed you on your way, and I pray that your messages meet their final destinations. With the grace of an accomplished rider Eowyn mounted her own horse and proceeded down to the city gate below.  
  
The princess of Ithilien had donned her armor. The steel had been polished to a high sheen by the staff of Minas Mallen. She had not believed that she would wear the suit ever again, but she was grateful for the attentiveness of her staff. Sitting atop her horse in the early hours of the morning she shone like a beacon of light for all to see.  
  
The princess began to encounter people in the streets on their way to the gate. As she passed she heard shouts of "Eowyn! Eowyn," and as she grew closer the cry increased. The people of Amon Galen, my people, cheered in the streets. There was no fear or worry, only the certainty of victory.  
  
Eowyn dismounted at the gate and climbed the stairs to the top of the outer wall. Turning around she could see the faces of all the remaining people of Amon Galen. Her heart swelled with pride at the strength of her people even as her stomach tied itself in knots at the thought of the coming battle. She raised her hands to quiet the crowd.  
  
Almost immediately the din subsided and quiet swept over the city. A thin sliver of the golden sun slipped above the eastern horizon and bathed Eowyn in golden sunlight. All those gathered there gasped at the sight, for it seemed that their princess had become as the sun herself. Her polished armor reflected back the fiery orb and Eowyn burned with the light of the Valar.  
  
Eowyn blinked in the first rays of the rising sun. She could see nothing at first as her eyes adjusted to the bright light. Within moments however her eyes detected movement along the road leading to Khazad-bizar. Hundreds of black-cloaked individuals were marching towards the city. With a start she realized that the enemy was upon them. "Raise the gate! We must raise the gate!"  
  
Without waiting to see if her words had been heeded Eowyn flew down the stairs and ran to the small door in the wall which housed the gate mechanism designed by the dwarves. Her own guards had followed her and as soon as they were inside they each grasped a bar of the gigantic wheel and began to slowly move it in a clockwise direction. For a few brief moments they were unable to move the mechanism, but as more bodies added their strength the wheel slowly began to turn.  
  
Eowyn strained to push the wheel, but found that as they built up momentum the force required to continue moving became less and less. It seemed hours to the princess before the wheel stopped with a bone-jarring jolt. From outside cheers went up from the crowd. The gate was closed. The enemy could not enter, but neither could they escape. Eowyn said one last prayer to the Valar then went to go lead her people into battle. 


	18. The Siege of Amon Galen

Author's Notes: Well, the long holiday kept my muse away, but a little movie you might have heard of called The Two Towers called him home. In fact, I was so enamored of the movie that I had to use of the lines from it. But, as a devoted Faramir fan I had serious problems with the portrayal of his character. But I digress. Again, I want to thank everyone who has left a review and inspired me to continue with this story. Sadly, it is nearing it's conclusion, but I do have other ideas in store.  
  
For those of you who have been requesting more Gimli and Legolas interaction, you will find plenty here. And for those of you who wanted more Eowyn, I am happy to oblige. She really is a remarkable character, and I can't wait to see her be more like the Shieldmaiden in the books than the character mooning after Aragorn that is in the movies (although I don't blame her one bit).  
  
So, on with the story.  
  
Disclaimer: all characters, settings, and elvish language are strictly from the mind of J.R.R. Tolkien or inspired by him.  
  
Chapter XVIII  
  
The Siege of Amon Galen  
  
Legolas stared down at the form sprawled on the bed. The dwarf lay exactly as he had left him an hour ago. He had removed neither his boots nor his leather jerkin. The only difference from before was that Gimli's mouth hung wide open and he was snoring loudly. The elf wrinkled his nose at the odor of unwashed dwarf and grimaced at the sight of the shorn beard. Legolas would never have called Gimli pretty exactly, but dwarves were much more attractive with their beards than without. He promised himself that he would have Gimli sent to the baths as soon as possible, and that he would beg leave of Prince Faramir's personal barber to have the beard trimmed neatly.  
  
Gently the elf-prince reached out one hand and laid it upon Gimli's shoulder. "Gimli, war is upon us. You must awaken." The dwarf did not stir. Legolas sighed at having to disturb his clearly exhausted friend. Ever so lightly he shook the dwarf's shoulder, "Gimli! Awake, my friend. The hour is desperate!"  
  
With more force than the elf expected Gimli bolted upright in bed and grabbed the axe hanging from the bedpost. Knowing Gimli's warrior instincts were in control he quickly leaped back away from the bedside, "Gimli, put down your weapon! It is I, Legolas!"  
  
Turning, Gimli raised his axe. Only when his eyes alit upon the form of the elf did his arm cease its movements. Gimli remained thus, with his arm prepared to hurl his weapon at the intruder for several seconds. Legolas stood, frozen, against the far wall waiting for the sleep-clouded mind to regain lucidity. With a great sigh the dwarf dropped his arm and threw the axe on the bed, "You are lucky, Legolas, that you are not dead!"  
  
Legolas did not attempt to hide his relief, "I am quite lucky! It was foolish of me not to have taken your weapon before I awakened you." The dwarf stared at the elf clearly unable to comprehend that Legolas had just admitted to making an error in judgment. Gimli's mind was too sleep- deprived to clearly formulate a response. Sensing his friend was at a disadvantage Legolas spoke quickly before the dwarf had a chance to recover his wits, "I realize you require more rest, but it seems that your expertise is required by Princess Eowyn."  
  
Gimli's eyes narrowed in irritation, "Unlike the delicate elves, a dwarf is never too tired to perform his duties. Especially when such as Princess Eowyn requests his aid." Gimli still lying on the bed was at an even more considerable height disadvantage with Legolas than normal, but he still managed to look upon the elf as though staring down from some lofty height, "She is a woman of great wisdom to have seen fit to send you to bring me to her aid. Obviously she is quite aware of the shortcomings of the elves."  
  
Legolas did his best to wear the haughty expression his father often donned when speaking to the other races. ""Tis true, Gimli, that you have greater skill in masonry than I. Princess Eowyn says that you have developed some manner in which to collapse the secret tunnel we have recently traversed. She asked me to see that you performed this task immediately, and so I will need to escort you to the tunnel forthwith." Legolas paused a moment then allowed his facial expressions to sink into a pitiful frown, "However, I am concerned that in your current state you will have forgotten where and how your hidden mechanism works, and I will be forced to return to the princess with news of failure."  
  
Growling loudly the dwarf threw himself from the bed and grabbing hold of his axe, placed it in the belt loop at his waist, "No dwarf should ever have to put up with such a sarcastic elf. If you manage to keep that pretty head of yours firmly attached to your shoulders throughout this siege, then I will seek a medal of honor for having to put up with you." Snorting more furiously Gimli stalked from the room not bothering to see if Legolas was following.  
  
In no time they reached the hidden tunnel. He and Gimli reached the entrance to the tunnel and quickly made their way through the door that was hidden behind the tapestry. Gimli prattled on about the fine points of building a tunnel - it's weaknesses and how best to exploit these if the need arose to cave the tunnel in. Legolas endured him, only because he still felt much pity for what the dwarf had endured because of him. However, after walking nearly the entire length of the long passageway Legolas was nearly ready to gag the dwarf.  
  
"Ah, here it is," the dwarf knelt down and was examining what looked like any other part of the tunnel wall to Legolas.  
  
"That was quick," Legolas said with the most innocent expression he could muster.  
  
So intent on the wall was Gimli that he did not even rise to Legolas's bait. "Now, where is that block?" Gimli's large, but deft hands began pressing the wall near the base of the passage seemingly to no effect.  
  
"Should I go back for some pallets for us? Do you expect it will be many nights before this is accomplished?" Legolas could not help the corners of his mouth from turning slightly upwards.  
  
"Such devices should not be easily seen, my clever friend. Else, any fool could bring the tunnel crashing down around their ears."  
  
"And we would not want just any fool caving it in," Legolas said, sincerity written all over his face.  
  
"Exactly," said the dwarf. Then, after a moment, the elf's words had a chance to sink in, and Gimli turned to face him with nostrils flaring and cheeks puffed out in righteous indignation. "You would do better to leave me in peace to complete this task rather than distracting me. Would that there was a pack of those evil elves to keep you occupied!"  
  
At that precise moment Gimli's searching hands alighted upon the correct spot, and a small block of stone swung inward revealing a piece of rope attached to a pulley and rising up along the inside of the tunnel wall. At the same time light poured in from where the tunnel exited into the surrounding forest, and the rough sounds of orc speech could be heard coming from the opening. Gimli swore under his breath, and Legolas could hear the dwarf muttering to himself, "Aule, I did not meant it. I did not mean it!" Without hesitation Legolas drew his bow and set an arrow to the string. Gimli ignored the sounds of the intruders and began pulling on the rope.  
  
In moments an orc dropped down into the tunnel. Its guttural cries at the unexpected presence of an elf and a dwarf were cut short by Legolas's arrow as it pierced its throat. The remaining orcs fell silent at the sight of their fallen comrade, and Gimli was granted a moment's reprieve as the orcs floundered in confusion.  
  
Legolas heard the grating of rock against rock and felt a fine mist of sand fall onto his head. Looking up he was shocked to see a span's length of the ceiling of the tunnel was slowly being pulled upwards into a black abyss. But he had little time to wonder as several orcs dropped into the tunnel ahead of him, swords raised, proceeding toward himself and Gimli. Arrows flew from the elf's bow and orc bodies began to litter the floor. "Gimli, hurry, I cannot hold them for long."  
  
"Well, you certainly are proving to be useless on this foray, Legolas." The elf glanced briefly at Gimli who had tied off the first rope and now appeared to be cutting through a second with a belt knife, "Half a moment, my friend. You should back off a few paces." Legolas began moving away, still firing arrows unceasingly at the approaching enemy.  
  
Suddenly, there came a great rumble from up above. Gimli shouted, "Success!" then leaped to his feet and darted back down the tunnel toward Legolas. In moments the entire roof began crashing down where the dwarf had stood, crushing several orcs, and completely blocking the way. The one orc who had escaped through the avalanche of boulders barely had time to breathe a sigh of relief at his escape before Gimli's axe lodged itself in his chest.  
  
Legolas stared in disbelief at the tunnel. Gimli's smile of satisfaction slowly turned to sadness, ""Twas a beautiful tunnel. It is a shame that it had to be destroyed."  
  
Legolas laid a single hand on Gimli's shoulder, "As you have said to me before, my friend, destruction only provides new opportunities for creation and increased beauty. It will be rebuilt."  
  
Gimli sighed but nodded in agreement. "True, my friend. But now we have other matters at hand."  
  
It was Legolas's turn to sigh, "Yes, Elvellon. It seems that we are ever fated to be at war." Elf and dwarf quickly made their way back toward Minas Mallen.  
  
Eowyn stared out at the surrounding countryside from the walls of Amon Galen. How many times had she walked these walls and found only beauty and serenity in the lush countryside of Ithilien. Now black shapes crawled over the beautiful land, trampling the beautiful grass and cloaking all in a hideous night.  
  
"My lady, we are assembled and await your orders." Eowyn turned to stare at the captain of her guard. Kierowyn, the captain of her guard, was the only daughter of Hama who had served her uncle and died for him during the war. The woman reminded Eowyn much of herself not so long ago - a warrior and Shieldmaiden who found no desire for babes or the keeping of a hearth. There were few men in Amon Galen who could best her at swords. Even her own husband took swordplay with Kierowyn very seriously.  
  
"Thank you, Kierowyn. Has all that was left in the armory been brought to the walls?"  
  
"Yes, Princess. Lord Boromir is just now distributing the last of the spears we found."  
  
"Good." Eowyn nodded, but she did not look happy. "I have need of your counsel, my captain."  
  
"I offer all that is mine to you, my lady."  
  
Eowyn winced at the thought. Soon enough she would be ordering many of the women and children of her city to give all that they had to offer. Taking a deep breath she pointed to the growing army surrounding Amon Galen. "See the machines they have brought with them? Legolas can see better when he comes here, but I must believe that they are catapults. And see those lying on the ground? They are ladders. They will try to reach the walls if they can."  
  
Kierowyn scrutinized the encampment of the enemy, "You speak truly, my lady. That is surely part of their plan."  
  
Eowyn nodded, "And the ladders will be coming in from a great angle to cross the moat. Poles will not suffice to knock them back. The angle is too large."  
  
Kierowyn nodded, "Yes, but it leaves them with a great distance to climb before they can reach the walls. In that time much can be done to prevent them from crossing. Oil has been brought from the kitchens my lady. We can pour that oil on the ends of the ladders and set fire to them. The enemy can climb them, but they cannot reach the walls. And as the wood burns it will eventually break under its own weight, much less that of any of our enemy."  
  
Eowyn smiled, "Yes, that is an excellent idea. See that the oil is distributed frequently along the walls. And ensure there are many torches available."  
  
Kierowyn nodded and bowed, "Yes, my lady."  
  
"And what of the catapults? Is there naught we can do to defend against those?"  
  
"There is little we can do, my lady, in defense. Although a concentration of flaming arrows could do damage to some, if most hit their mark. Still, not many are within range, and they have much water with which to douse it. We do have our own catapults, though, my lady. Aldaluin has gathered many of the men to man them from below. The enemy's catapults were designed for mobility, and so are smaller and have less power than ours. We might be able to destroy some of theirs with ours."  
  
"See that Aldaluin knows of this then." Eowyn smiled and placed her hand on Kierowyn's shoulder, "Go with honor, Shieldmaiden."  
  
Kierowyn bowed then left. Eowyn smiled at her with pride. Even the tacticians of King Elessar would be appreciative of her captain's skills.  
  
Turning back to the black army her thoughts turned once more to the darkness ahead of her and the people of Ithilien. They seemed in no hurry to begin waging war. In fact, they appeared content to set up their camps and bide their time. They are trying to frighten us. At least it allowed her more time to prepare: more time for Killaen and Hildeth to reach their destinations, more time for the elves who remained in Edhil-e-londe to come, more time for Faramir to return.  
  
Slowly her gaze turned south to where her husband fought his own battle. She would not allow herself to consider any other fate for the Prince of Ithilien other than victory and a return to Amon Galen. He still enjoyed reminding her of how little she appreciated his attentions when first they met, but once she had noticed Denethor's youngest son all else faded before him. Even her fantasies of Aragorn paled in comparison with the reality that was Faramir. If nothing else, this foul army will occupy my thoughts and drive all worries of Faramir and the soldiers of Ithilien from my mind.  
  
Turning she saw Boromir walking toward her. When she had suggested the name to Faramir upon the day of his birth she did not imagine that he would grow to look so much like his namesake. She had only seen Boromir once, from afar, while accompanying her uncle, King Theoden, on a trip to Minas Tirith. He had allowed she and Eomer to accompany him shortly after the death of her father and mother, perhaps to keep sorrow at bay with new experiences. Even then the eldest son of Denethor seemed larger than life. And now her son possessed those same broad shoulders and wide chest, he was tall - even more so than either she or Faramir, and that same auburn hair not possessed by either parent was an exact match for that of his late uncle. "Mother!" Neither she nor Faramir saw any point to having him address them by their royal titles in public. "All is made ready, in swifter time than I would have thought possible."  
  
Eowyn smiled at her only child, "You have only seen the people of our realm during times of peace. The people of Ithilien can move with great haste and power when called upon."  
  
"Clearly!" said Boromir. "The enemy does not know what he is up against." He grinned with that mischievous smile she was certain came from his Uncle Eomer. She had seen it on his face many times. Poor Prince Theodred rarely had a moment's peace when Eomer was about. "All the children have been assembled in Minas Mallen with some of the Elders of our people keeping watch. The rest are assembled as you see them here. I had no idea there was such a great deal of armor and weaponry within the armory. More than even we could use here. And so much of it was designed for women." His eyes wide in surprise, narrowed at his mother suspiciously.  
  
"Your father learns much from others' mistakes. He saw what the women and children of Minas Tirith would have faced in the great war had the soldiers of Gondor fallen. He did not wish for that to happen here." Smiling once again at her son she said, "Remember, those who do not carry swords can still die upon them."  
  
Boromir nodded, then smiled reassuringly, "They will be hard pressed to enter these walls. We will prevail." He sounded bold, but his face did not appear convinced of his words.  
  
Coming towards them, Eowyn heard the gruff voice of Gimli, "Perhaps it is because elves stand so tall that the air is entirely too thin for them to breath properly. Are you quite certain the altitude has not dulled your wits, Legolas?"  
  
Legolas did not answer, but instead bowed low to Boromir and Eowyn, "My lord and lady. I have suffered many hardships, but I have completed the quest you set before me. The secret passage is now blocked, though it was nearly too late. Even as the tunnel filled with rocks some of our enemy attempted to enter."  
  
Before either the Princess or her son could respond Gimli interrupted, "You? What quest did you complete and under what hardships? It was I who prevented the enemy from entering Minas Mallen."  
  
"True," Legolas admitted, "but it was I who had to wake you and endure your cheerful disposition, and might I add smell, in order to ensure that you would be able to do your part."  
  
"My smell? Why, you are lucky enough to still be alive to smell dwarf odor! You ungrateful, arrogant elf!" Gimli spat the last word as if it were an oath unto itself. "You would be dead without my skills as a warrior. You fight like a woman! I would be happy to . . . "  
  
"Fight like a woman, Master Dwarf?" Eowyn's eyes flashed dangerously as she stared down at Gimli. Boromir actually looked at the dwarf with sympathy in his eyes. "By the Valar, I am not sure what you mean by that."  
  
Gimli stared down at the ground, unable to meet the princess's stare, "My apologies, Princess Eowyn. I meant no effrontery to you or the fairer sex. It is just this elf! He is a constant strain to my sensibilities (the dwarf ignored a slight sniff coming from Legolas's direction) and I spoke out of anger not wisdom."  
  
Legolas looked about to say something, but stopped when Eowyn's gaze alighted upon him. "I am amazed that the two of you carry on so while we prepare for a siege upon Amon Galen. Is there nothing that could make the two of you set aside your differences?" Eowyn's eyes shot daggers at both of them.  
  
Legolas and Gimli exchanged glances, then without hesitation, both shrugged and replied, "A balrog."  
  
Eowyn struggled to maintain a straight face even as she could see her son fighting back laughter at her side. Her anger was still great, however, and she prepared to chastise the both of them once more when a sudden chill came over her. Fear gripped her such as she had not felt in many years. A hush fell all around her as the others felt its presence as well. Searching the enemy below she saw a figure moving toward the edge of the moat directly below her. Its face was raised, but she could see nothing in the recesses of its cowl other than darkness. A shiver ran through her entire body.  
  
Boromir rested one hand on her arm whispering, "What is it mother?"  
  
Eowyn shook her head, unknowing, but continued to stare at the approaching figure. On her left Legolas whispered something she could not hear then raised his bow, an arrow already fitted to the string. A single word from her and the figure would fall to that arrow. When the robed figure reached the shore of the moat it stopped. "Eowyn, daughter of Theodwyn."  
  
Eowyn froze. Next to her Legolas spat the word, "Nazgul!" It was impossible. The Nazgul were destroyed when the one ring was destroyed. The nine rings that gave them power became nothing more than jewelry on that day, and the nine ringwraiths were no more. Shaking her head and steeling her nerves she called back, "I am Eowyn, Princess of Ithilien and Wife to the Steward of Gondor. Who are you that bring war to my country?"  
  
"War is not necessary if you will come down to us and give yourself into our possession. If you do so, we will depart."  
  
Eowyn shivered at that familiar voice. In her mind she knew it was not possible, but her heart did not believe. It was the voice of the Witchking. Still he spoke to her in her worst nightmares, as he had on the Pelennor Fields, and now her worst nightmare was become real. "You have not answered my question, stranger. Who are you?"  
  
"You have no need for me to answer that question."  
  
Fear was not a customary emotion for Eowyn, Princess of Ithilien, and its continued presence would eventually lead to anger. If this creature was what it claimed then she would see it destroyed once again. She barely moved her index finger from the wall, but Legolas understood the gesture. The arrow was loosed even as she lowered her finger. It met its target true, but instead of imbedding itself in the figure it merely pulled the black cloak along until imbedding itself in the earth behind. Where the figure had stood nothing remained. 


End file.
